


Quid Pro Quo

by MKK



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Dom/sub, Hand Feeding, Humiliation, Light Bondage, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Master/Slave, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Situational Humiliation, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:11:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKK/pseuds/MKK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elim Garak and Julian Bashir, newly acquainted and in the beginning stages of their friendship, begin having disturbing, erotic dreams about each other, dreams they're powerless to stop or to control.  But where are the dreams coming from?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was a complete guilty pleasure to write for a zine; however, it might not be to everyone's taste, as it's pretty much all NON-consensual G/B play time, much to their mutual chagrin! Thus, there are no safe words, no asking permission, and definitely no cuddling afterward! :-) 
> 
> On the other hand, they don't go down without a struggle... It is my firm belief that those two men, both geniuses and overachievers, are, deep down, so unsure of themselves and so unwilling to believe in their own worth that they crave, in bed, the very helplessness and humiliation that they so rebel against in real life. (Well, okay, Garak likes to be in control a little bit more than that in most situations, but only when he's got a partner he secretly feels is his equal.) 
> 
> Being overpowered, in a way, makes them feel extremely wanted and gives them the confidence to rebel, and they definitely enjoy that part too. No willing submission here. I wanted to explore this theme - thus, there's almost nothing that hurts in this story except a whipping or two, and even then, I think they'd enjoy it more for the helpless position it forces them into, physically and emotionally, than for the pain itself.
> 
> The story concludes on a somewhat ambiguous note; there is indeed a sequel, though, called ["Non Sequitur"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2297393/chapters/5052704) ("It does not follow" - ??) in which the two decide to pursue the feelings the events in the first story awoke, with unforeseen consequences.
> 
> But for now, it's Quid Pro Quo - "something for something" or "tit for tat."

"I look forward to lunch next week, Mister Garak."

"As do I, Doctor Bashir." Elim Garak, Deep Space Nine's resident Cardassian tailor and suspected spy and Obsidian Order operative, bowed formally to Doctor Julian Bashir and departed; he was aware that Bashir was continuing to watch him from their table, and flattered himself with the thought that their friendship must be proving to be one of the highlights of the young officer's brief time on the station. Bashir, however, continued to act decidedly nervous and uncomfortable around Garak, and Garak, in turn, had not yet lost the air of smug superiority he always wore when dealing with members of the Federation. 

Bashir was the most interesting Starfleet officer he had yet encountered, true, and their budding friendship held the promise of becoming much more intimate in the far distant future. But Garak had always been pragmatic and practical, and his practical side refused to run wild with fantasies about his new friend. If any further "developments" of any sort were to take place, they could do so without his active assistance. His duties in his shop always awaited him. Then, too, he was still unsure as to whether Bashir was a suitable intellectual match for him - while he could be tempted into a brief sexual encounter on the basis of surface attraction alone, it had been years since such encounters appealed to him. He craved a deeper friendship, an emotional union as well as a physical one, one based on respect and the sharing of ideas and philosophies. Idle speculation aside, he was far from a decision as to whether Julian Bashir would be able to provide him with such a union, but was convinced he would enjoy the wait as he endeavored to find out.

Some time later, he walked back to his quarters, alone, wishing for nothing more than peace and quiet and a warm bed. He had never experienced a bout of fatigue quite this severe. He had almost been tempted to ask young Doctor Bashir about it, but then decided that, no, that would possibly make it appear as if he were now manufacturing reasons to see him. No, he had all the privacy he required in his quarters, as well as the opportunity for the sleep he desperately needed. He let himself into his room, fumbled with the lights and the heat setting, and collapsed onto the bed, already drifting into a blissful state of unconsciousness.

He was almost immediately startled by an angry reprimand. "On your feet, Cardassian." He struggled to comply, but the crude chains attached to his wrists and his ankles made that somewhat difficult. "I said on your feet!" Julian Bashir grabbed him by the collar of his rough tunic and pulled him up. "When I tell you to do something, you do it immediately." His voice was low and menacing, his eyes furious. Garak found it impossible to answer him. Just hours ago, they had been sitting in the replimat, discussing the latest Vulcan mystery novel, Bashir stammering shyly as Garak leaned toward him, and now - now Bashir appeared to be in some sort of position of authority over him. The sensation was not pleasant. Garak began to bristle. Bashir slapped him across the face, nearly knocking him off balance. "I see that, slave."

"See what?" Garak winced, trying to put some anger into his voice but failing.

"I see those neck ridges darken. I know what that means, slave. That means you're either incredibly angry or incredibly aroused. Tell me - which is it?" Bashir brought his face close to Garak's in a sneer. "Well? I'm waiting for your answer. It had better be the right one." Garak contemplated whether or not to reply. He didn't know who or where he was supposed to be in this incomprehensible situation, he didn't know who this impudent and unimaginably irritating young human thought HE was - Bashir reached down and grasped Garak's emerging, hardening penis through the heavy fabric of the trousers, and started to squeeze. "I knew it. Aroused. Well, we'll just have to see what we can do about that, won't we, Cardassian?"

"Wait!" Garak's heart pounded with shock as he tried to wriggle free of Bashir's hold; the doctor only squeezed him harder, then reached out with his other hand and began to probe the ridges at the side of Garak's neck, his fingers toying with the edges of the scales and endeavoring to gently work their way between them. Garak nearly saw stars. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sensations, but blood began to rush to his neck and his groin and he felt himself grow a little dizzy.

"Wait?" Bashir relaxed his hold slightly and stared at Garak with amusement; his other hand rested on the Cardassian's neck. "All right. I'm waiting. Slave."

Garak fought for concentration but found he could do no more than pant with the exertion. If only the hands would withdraw and leave him in peace, while he sorted all of this out - if only he could THINK for a moment... "Where are we?"

"Where ARE we? Don't you know?" Bashir regarded him incredulously. "No, pardon me, I forgot that Cardassian slaves are usually the most ignorant of them all." Garak would have struck him if his hands hadn't been chained behind his back. "Let me see if I can put this into terms a master spy like you would understand. A ship, a big, big ship, flew through space and brought you here. Remember? Remember all the pretty stars outside the windows?" 

Garak closed his eyes again to shut out Bashir's mocking stare. He couldn't shut out the sensation of the hand again grasping him as he grew embarrassingly harder and wetter; this was completely unacceptable. Equally unacceptable was the fact that Bashir had never looked so utterly, consummately ravishing in any of their previous meetings; the intensity behind those hazel eyes and that dazzling smile was quite incredible. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, slave." He reluctantly opened his eyes. "There. Much better. As I was saying, a big ship brought you here, brought you to me, to serve me. But so far, all you seem to be able to do is eat and fuck. Nice existence for you, not so useful to me." Garak was livid; eat and - WHAT? He began to protest, but Bashir cut him off. "Never mind. I forgot you haven't got the intellect for much else. All right, then. Until I find the time to train you to really be of some use here, I'll have to work with what I've got. You've already eaten. So now I think it's time for you to fuck." 

Without warning, he pushed Garak backwards; the Cardassian landed on the tiled floor with a grunt and an audible smack, his wrists aching from the impact of his weight on top of them. To his horror, he saw Bashir lower himself to the floor, unfastening his own trousers as he did so. 

"This will be somewhat difficult, with your legs chained and all." A meter-long length of chain ran between Garak's ankles. "I had so wanted to take you on your back this time... oh what the hell. Let's try it." Bashir lifted the chain, and Garak's lower legs in the process, and scooted beneath it. Then he knelt in front of the Cardassian, who attempted to slide backward along the floor. Bashir reached out and took hold of his thighs as Garak thrashed furiously.

"Where do you think you're going, slave? Oh, I forgot, there are THREE things an ignorant Cardie like you knows how to do. Eat, fuck, and sleep. You be good to me now, I'll let you have all the sleep you want this time. No dreams." He winked. "Besides, you can't very well escape with me practically kneeling in your crotch, now can you?" Garak realized he unfortunately couldn't. Bashir roughly undid the fastening of Garak's thick trousers and slid them down past his hips, Garak continuing to buck and to curse. Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, Bashir produced a knife and sliced the trousers open down the center seam, pulling the remnants past each of Garak's knees. Garak froze for a moment; the knife was a new and most unwelcome development in that bizarre scenario, but Bashir tossed it aside; he was now free to take the ridged penis, fully emerged, into his hand, and hefted it as if testing the weight. Garak groaned with arousal and humiliation.

"What are you so upset about?" Bashir asked, seemingly confused. "I'm serious - why is this bothering you so much? This is far from the worst treatment you've ever received from me. Did you prefer my behavior at our first meeting? DID you?" Our first meeting, Garak thought, took place in the replimat, with you practically scared out of your wits, my dear Julian Bashir, not pinning me to the floor and preparing to rape me. He bellowed in rage and again tried to sit up; Bashir slammed him back down, then took hold of the slippery penis once more.

"Lie back and RELAX now," he commanded. "And let your master admire you for a moment. Yes... yes," he cooed, simply holding Garak in his hand. "You're beautiful. THIS is beautiful. And this is all mine . What you lack in intelligence you make up for with the absolutely incomparable power and beauty of this body. I never thought I'd see anything like you before I came here. Take this cock, for example. Marvelous to behold." His voice took on a hushed but not entirely mocking tone. "I'll tell you a little secret that may please you somewhat. Lie STILL, I said -" He cuffed Garak across the face; Garak had again begun to buck against the floor. "I know you don' think of me as an appreciative man where you're concerned, but believe me, when I'm exhausted, when this place is really getting to me -" He began to stroke the penis with his fingers, then gently pinched the smooth scales behind the scrotum while Garak fought to keep from gasping, "all I can think of is getting you into bed and feeling that delicious cock under me. It's as if you're offering it just for my pleasure. MY pleasure, remember." 

Garak bit his lower lip in the effort to keep silent; Bashir's fingers had found the ridges that ran around the penis, and he traced his fingernails along them. "You'd think these things would HURT going inside - well, we'll never know, will we?" He smiled and placed his hands under Garak's bare knees. "That's one thing slaves don't do. Slaves allow their masters to fuck them good and hard and thoroughly whenever they get the urge - and your master, Cardassian, gets the urge quite often. Oh, and guess what - I've got it again." Garak felt his knees being lifted up by Bashir, who pulled himself even closer, pulling the knees further apart. Garak again tried to sit up but had no leverage against the floor. Bashir's own cock, just as firm as Garak's, was freed now and pressed insistently against the Cardassian, rubbing against his erection, growing harder and ruddier with each heartbeat. Bashir, his face flushed, smiled down at Garak and began to push into him. Garak roared with outrage.

He awoke, panting heavily, the bedclothes in a tangle around his legs. Within seconds, the rage he had felt in the dream began to overtake his conscious mind as well, and he sat up abruptly, flailing his unbound arms. "Get away from me!" he shouted to the empty room; to his horror, he realized he had not been this hard in quite a long time - in fact, he seemed only seconds away from a spectacular climax, but his mind rebelled against acknowledging the cause. His hand, still shaking from the events of the dream, took care of his physical craving, but nothing could ease the turmoil in his mind. He began to engage in a silent but furious dialogue with Bashir, Commander Sisko, and the entire pack of Starfleet cowards with whom he now shared the station, cowards who thought it was pathetically amusing to somehow infiltrate thoughts and impose their own brand of Federation dogma. 

Slave, indeed - too stupid to do anything but eat and - he couldn't even finish the thought, his anger was so intense. He toyed with the idea of paying an early morning visit to the good doctor and finishing the encounter his own way, but regained his composure as he continued to ponder the dream. It was likely that Bashir harbored thoughts of attraction for him. In fact, it was more than likely - it was almost certain. Garak hadn't missed the fluttering of Bashir's eyelashes whenever the two friends met and departed, the hopeful look in his eyes whenever Garak suggested a date for the next lunch, the slightly flushed tint to his face and the barely perceptible increase in his breathing whenever Garak chanced to brush against him, deliberately or not. But the Cardassian had always interpreted those signs as showing a willingness to submit to him, to let himself be wooed and then overpowered, not a wish for THIS intolerable situation.

Then too, Garak decided, even if Bashir DID secretly entertain such - revolting - thoughts, he had no possible reason for implanting them somehow into Garak's brain, assuming Starfleet even possessed such technology. The doctor would be much more likely to simply entertain himself privately with his own twisted scenarios, and in fact be very much inclined to keep them secret from everyone else on the station, the object of the fantasies most of all. So could it be that... No, Garak shook his head angrily, no. His Cardassian mind could not even begin to entertain the idea that the thoughts came bubbling up from his own subconscious.

He saw Bashir later that day, eating alone in the replimat - the doctor glanced at him with an expression of such abject terror that Garak was greatly heartened and relieved. No, this shy, timid young officer could have had nothing to do with those dreams after all. Garak smiled enigmatically and kept walking. He did find it difficult to concentrate on his work that day, however - despite Bashir's seeming innocence, the nightmare had left Garak more disturbed than he even cared to admit to himself. So he left the shop early and headed over to Quark's bar. 

A holosuite was easily rented, and just as easily programmed - he didn't need an elaborate master/slave scenario of his own, just a simple combat program against a human opponent. For over an hour, he punched, kicked, and beat his human adversary into a bloody mass. Whenever his strength or passion began to fade, he had simply to call up the image of himself lying helpless on the floor in front of Bashir for the rage to well up all over again. It was a good thing that Quark had such programs available, Garak reflected - he might otherwise have been tempted to succumb to the temptation to work out his anger against the actual, terrified, human in question. Luckily, though, he neither saw nor heard a mention of Bashir at any point for the rest of that day. He staggered back to his quarters, bathed, and fell exhausted across the bed, still fighting the holosuite opponent who had inexplicably assumed the doctor's face, as he drifted into an unsettled sleep.

He awoke to the sensation of unpleasantly cool air against his back and found he was unable to move his arms. "No," he groaned, as he slowly and fearfully opened his eyes. "Oh God, no..."

"No?" Julian Bashir smirked, standing just centimeters away from him.


	2. Chapter 2

Garak was leaning against a tall wooden pole, his arms tied above his head to a ring at the top of the pole, the chain binding his ankles wrapped around the base. He tried to shift backward but found movement almost impossible. His shirt had been removed, but he quickly noted with relief that at least he was still wearing his trousers and boots - a line of individuals stood about ten meters away from him, watching him, also dressed in the same simple style of garment that he wore. Bashir's other slaves, he realized with one part of his mind, while the other part tried desperately to make sense of this new situation and find a way to escape. "No! NO!" he shouted again; Bashir moved in closer, and Garak realized with horror that he was swinging a short but rather formidable-looking whip in one hand.

"This will go a lot easier for you if you stop fighting me." Bashir reached out a hand and began to gently massage Garak's back, letting his fingers flex and toy with the scales running between the shoulder blades. "Beautiful slave. I don't want to mar your elegant skin this way but you leave me no choice - I can't let the rest of them think I'm allowing you to take advantage of me, now can I?" He gestured toward the group of slaves with the handle of the whip. 

Garak noticed that the doctor's sexual appetite seemed to be wide-ranging; there was an Andorian in the group, Bajorans, a Vulcan, humans... both male and female. They watched the drama taking place in front of them with carefully neutral expressions, although Garak thought he detected slight eagerness in the Andorian's eyes, fear in one of the human females. He shuddered.

Bashir was now caressing his lower back and had slid his fingers below the waistband of Garak's trousers. One finger slipped between the buttocks and Garak struggled against it; Bashir laughed and smacked him on the rump with his open hand. "Don't like to let them see me play with you, eh, slave? Do I embarrass you? I'll have to remember that - I may be embarrassing you again today. You become so deliciously appetizing when you're embarrassed. It's no wonder you're my favorite." He grinned and resumed his fondling. "I'm just making it easier for you to take the punishment." His probing finger then found the tight opening he was seeking. "No matter how much it hurts, when you think you can't possibly bear any more of it, just keep your mind on what comes afterward."

"And what is that?" Garak managed to gasp, trying again to pull away.

Bashir inserted his finger halfway inside, as Garak stifled another gasp. "You can look forward to the incredible fucking I plan to give you. You have no idea how aroused a whipping gets me."

"Giving, or receiving?" Garak panted; Bashir smiled and leaned closer to him, pressing against him, his hot breath against the back of Garak's neck. "Which do you suppose?" he murmured, biting at a neck ridge.

Garak bucked violently against him, as the chains rattled and Bashir withdrew his hand with a smirk. "Yes, yes, struggle. Fight me. Try to escape." He took one step backward and then brought the whip crashing down onto Garak's shoulders. The pain was as if someone had sliced his back open, and he screamed involuntarily. How could a few leather straps inflict pain like that, on tough Cardassian skin? Garak had never come across such a weapon in many, many years; he had expected that its somewhat innocuous appearance would mean relatively bearable pain, but he was mistaken. 

The muscles in his back stiffened, increasing the agony to his skin, and sweat began to drip down his face despite the cool temperature of the room. Bashir worked slowly and methodically, never repeating a blow but never leaving any area of the back untouched for too long a time either. Occasionally, he would offer bits of advice to his prisoner in a calm and somewhat amused voice, infuriating Garak to the point of incoherence. "Come on now, lean into it. Try to relax. You're fighting it - you'll wear yourself out."

"Why don't you shut your fucking mouth?" Garak snarled against the pole, sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down his eye ridges.

"Why don't I WHAT? Pardon me - I must not have heard you correctly." Three more blows sliced across Garak's back in rapid succession. "Now - what was that you said?" Garak didn't answer. To his horror, the strain of enduring the beating as well as the entire situation in which he found himself had begun to weaken him; he felt tears start to form at the corners of his eyes. No, please, NO, he screamed to himself, but the tears started to roll down his cheeks just before the whipping stopped, just as he had feared. He could hear the sound of Bashir panting behind him, but he had squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to prevent any more tears from forming.

"Don't make me do that again for a while, slave - I hurt my arm when I have to whip you that hard." Isn't that too fucking bad for you, Garak seethed. Bashir began to address the little group that had been watching him. "You can see the penalty for disrespect - I can tolerate many things -" Like hell you can, Garak seethed again, "but lack of respect is not one of them. I want you all to know, though, that I'm not needlessly cruel. The rewards are great if you're good to me. In fact, although he doesn't deserve it, even Garak is going to find out how kind I can be." 

He began to unlock the chains binding Garak's arms to the pole. "No, I beg you, just leave me alone," Garak tried to stop him, "please, just leave me here." The pain was like fire across his back, nearly blinding him as Bashir leaned against him to undo the chains. Even in that state, though, he noted that there was virtually no blood on his arms, and he didn't believe he felt much more than sweat running down his back. What kind of whip WAS that?

"Isn't this exactly the problem we were trying to solve? Your tendency to claim authority over me and give me orders?" Garak's arms were now freed and he slumped against the pole. His mind was in a turmoil - had he indeed been dominating a few too many of the recent lunchtime discussions? Had he indeed been trying to force too many of his opinions on the delightfully impressionable young man? Was he in some way responsible for creating this admittedly gorgeous monster? "I'll overlook it this time since I know how much pain you're in," Bashir continued. "I used a whip meant for a Klingon - the neural sensor obviously didn't adjust properly for you." 

He looked into Garak's face and finally saw the wet trails of tears. Garak, too late, tried to turn in the other direction. "What's this? Crying? I actually made you cry this time?" He laughed delightedly. "It appears I've finally found the correct whip. Start behaving yourself from now on or you're going to become very well acquainted with it." 

He stroked Garak's face with the back of his fingers, examining the moisture interestedly, then crouched down and undid the chains around Garak's ankles. Garak slumped even lower. "Now, now," Bashir admonished him, "stand up straight - don't let them see how much I really hurt you - I don't want them terrified of me, just properly frightened. Stand up!" He smacked Garak on the bottom again. "Now," Bashir announced to the group, "you have all seen that I know how to administer pain. I also want you to know that I'm just as willing to administer pleasure." He grasped Garak's wrists in his hand and raised them to the top of the pole. "Here - turn around and take hold of that ring. Face me."

"What?" Garak managed to whisper.

"You heard me. Face me and hang on to the ring. Remove your hands and I'll whip you again, I promise you." 

With difficulty, Garak turned and stood with his back to the pole - he was free now but weakened from pain and disorientation, and could barely stand yet. Leaning back against the rough wood, though, brought excruciating torment to his skin, and he nearly cried out. Bashir, in the meantime, had quickly unfastened Garak's trousers and was marveling happily over the partial erection Garak was already displaying. "A Cardassian, through and through. A magnificent, delicious Cardassian. You're almost as predictable as the Klingons, you know - I always loved the way hard punishment arouses your species. Believe me, I'll try to keep it in mind from now on." 

Garak was petrified with humiliation. It was one thing to have Bashir examining him and exclaiming over him in private, as he had done the previous evening; it was quite another to be put on display in front of this indifferent crowd of spectators. Garak closed his eyes and tried to recall his holosuite battle, of overpowering this creature and breaking his neck in front of the entire group. But Bashir, for his part, was making any other thoughts impossible.

He had dropped to his knees in front of Garak and, with a skill seemingly borne of long practice in this unknown place, began to mouth the heavy Cardassian scrotum, licking and nipping at it till Garak thought he would go mad. Bashir soon took the cock into his mouth, plunging it as far back as he could with one movement, then pulling away and enveloping it again in a kind of rhythm, one that Garak to his horror found he was unable to resist. He began to squirm in his own rhythm, as his back periodically scraped against the wood and the tip of his hardening penis rubbed against the back of Bashir's tongue, his teeth closing gently around it and teasing it. A Cardassian male always exhibited some degree of self-lubrication, which increased as stimulation increased; Garak didn't need to look down to know that Bashir's lips must now be gleaming with the shiny fluid, as Garak pumped his hips helplessly and tried to drive himself even further into his tormentor's throat. "Please," he murmured, "please..."

"Please what, slave?" Bashir had drawn back slightly to speak, but immediately resumed his attention to Garak's now rock-hard shaft, the tip of his tongue toying briefly with the head, then swirling against the lubrication continuing to be secreted along the ridges.

"Please... not in front of them..." Garak could hardly speak. The sensation in his groin, almost blindingly pleasurable, was warring with the torture Bashir had inflicted on his back; the more he ground and rocked his hips, the more the pleasure and the pain both multiplied. When he finally came, he almost screamed as he emptied himself into Bashir's throat. Bashir's jaws and tongue worked to swallow the fluid without releasing their hold on Garak, driving him to a second climax. This one was easier and yet more excruciating than the first; while his body was more willing to forget the pain and seek release, he was exhausted from the first attempt and Bashir's ministrations to entice him to a second rally were like a new kind of torture. 

He moaned with pain and effort as his penis, slick with lubrication, slid in and out of Bashir's hot mouth, his hands grasping Garak around the hips and pulling his face closer. Then his exploring fingers slipped behind and under his trousers and began to knead Garak's backside in the same rhythm as the Cardassian's thrusts, pulling him close and then relaxing, closer and then relaxing. Just as a finger slowly began to penetrate, Garak came again and slumped against the pole, inadvertently releasing his hold on the ring in the process. Bashir sank back in front of him, smiling faintly, licking his lips free of the last traces of Garak's own moisture.

"I told you not to let go, slave. But I suppose I can excuse that, too. I put you through a lot today. Do you see now," he said, raising his voice and turning to the other slaves, "that I have no wish to hurt any of you? Your pleasure is all I want. And your pleasure comes from serving me. Never forget that. If you need a reminder, I'm sure I won't find it difficult to provide one. You may leave us now." The silent group dispersed, with several glances back at Garak, who had collapsed onto the ground and was leaning against the pole, breathing hard. Bashir watched till everyone had left the courtyard, then turned back toward his prisoner as well. "And now," he said, his eyes glowing, "it's time for your apology."

"My what?" Garak whispered, his voice barely audible.

"You apology. Your chance to show me how sorry you are for all of this. I'm going to take you back to my room and clean you up, and you in return are going to show me how grateful you are that I didn't whip you to death."

"I'm - I'm - No, please, I can't -" The thought of this sadistic Federation bastard now touching him and bathing him and expecting some sort of sexual favor in return - Garak's skin crawled at the very idea. The beautiful human doctor belonged in Garak's own bed, tied and pleading, not - Wake up, please wake up, he screamed in his mind, but the situation never changed, and Bashir remained kneeling beside him, the same evil glint in his eye.

"Then I'll have to whip you again until you can." He began to pull Garak up by the arm. "I have no wish to beg you. I have certain expectations for you, and when they're not met, I have no choice but to continue the punishment until they are." Garak's knees were like jelly as Bashir hoisted him to his feet. "I'm only sorry I already dismissed the group." Garak dropped back to his knees, scarcely realizing what he was doing, but knowing instinctively that another bout with Bashir's Klingon whip would be worse than anything that would transpire in his bedroom. "Ah," Bashir smiled, pleased, "you have something to say to me?"

"Yes, I... I'll go with you."

"Master."

"I'll go with you, master."

"A very wise choice. I killed the last Cardassian who continually disobeyed me. I don't want the same thing to happen to you - you're much too appealing. Come, then." He grasped Garak's arm and again hoisted him to his feet, then slowly guided his steps toward the doorway. "You're dreading this, I can tell, but you have no reason to. I can be very, very gentle. I'm a doctor, after all." Garak's eyes widened in shock. "Deep down, Garak, you know you want to give in and submit to me - you know you want to surrender to me. I'm simply helping the process along." He smiled. Garak stared at the ground, his heart pounding -

\- and awoke in his own bed, his back aching, his muscles clenching and unclenching, the sheets wet from his ejaculations. With a roar, he tore the bedclothes from his body and lay across the mattress, panting hard with fear and exertion. Never, never in his life had he experienced such a dream - never had a dream been as vivid, as physical, as persistent - never had he been utterly unable to wake himself from frightening or upsetting hallucinations. He leapt out of bed and hurriedly pulled his clothing on, not caring about the sticky semen all across his stomach or the dried tears all down his face. His destination was the infirmary, and the mind-controlling device that he was now convinced the brash, arrogant, doomed young Starfleet doctor had somehow managed to install there.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where is he?" Garak shouted, storming into the infirmary. "Where's Doctor Bashir?" The two Bajoran nurses on duty regarded him with startled expressions. His blue eyes blazed in his forbidding gray face, and his rapid breathing and trembling hands gave the impression of an explosion about to go off.

"He's - he's not here," one of the nurses timidly answered. "He's not on duty."

"Then call him."

"I can't - he's ill. He's been in his quarters since yesterday." His quarters, Garak smiled suddenly. Yes, of course - his quarters would be a much more logical place to hide this - device - than the infirmary, under the noses of any curious people who happened to wander in and discover it.

"I see." He struggled to calm himself; frightening the nurses would not help him find and confront Bashir without his being warned ahead of time, and could even possibly bring an unwelcome visit from station security. "Well, thank you anyway. I'm very sorry to have bothered you. This little - matter - can wait until the doctor returns to duty. Please don't disturb him."

The nurses glanced at each other uncertainly. "Well, if you're sure, Mister Garak," one of them answered. "Is there anything we could help you with?" Not very likely, Garak fumed. He bowed graciously, his mind seething at the effrontery of the doctor who would even go so far as to remove himself from his duty post for the purpose of tormenting him. "No, really, it's not important. Thank you again." He turned and departed, then consulted the computer's station directory for the exact location of Julian Bashir's quarters. Garak nearly ran down the corridor to the turbolift, his heart pounding with rage. At last - after two nights of unendurably degrading torture and humiliation, he was finally going to confront the young human doctor and resolve the situation; whether the resolution became violent mattered very little to him.

In his room, Julian Bashir tossed and turned on his bed, deep in the throes of another nightmare that dream-blocking medication had done nothing to prevent. He moaned softly in his sleep, dreading the outcome of the scenario he was about to enter. His hand trembled against the blanket as he felt himself carrying the tray into his master's presence.

"Closer, please, human," Garak imperiously called over to him. "Don't stand there in the shadows, hoping I won't notice you. Believe me, my beautiful creature, you're impossible to ignore." Bashir swallowed and crept nervously to the center of the room. Garak was partially reclining on a low couch set against a table; light streamed down from a skylight overhead, illuminating his gray features and accenting the blue of his Cardassian eyes. "You've been in my service all this time, and you're still afraid to approach me? We'll have to remedy that." He beckoned impatiently; Bashir sidled even closer to the table, then gasped in shock as his penis was firmly grasped through the thin fabric of his trousers and Garak pulled him forward.

He had taken hold of it near the base, not the tip, and there was little stimulation in the gesture at first, only pain. Bashir struggled to keep his balance while Garak smiled at him and continued to hold on to the gradually hardening organ. "There, you see - that wasn't so difficult. Remember this the next time I ask you to come near." Bashir cast his eyes down to the tray he was holding. Garak released him and gently smoothed the trousers he had wrinkled. "Such a pretty creature; easily the most beautiful slave I've ever had. But willful, too. Sometimes I weary of the constant challenges to my authority." He paused expectantly.

Bashir knew it was now his turn to speak. After two days with the Cardassian, he had also started to learn what he was to say. "I'm sorry, master."

"You'd better be." Garak continued to gaze at him, not smiling, but without malice of any kind. "Tell me, my pretty Julian, do you know why I sent for you just now?"

"No, master." Bashir's pride stung with every subservient word he uttered, but two days of beatings and humiliation had begun to wear him down. If this was only a dream, it was still the most lucid and authentic one he had ever endured, and so far, he had discovered he was completely incapable of stopping or preventing it. He shifted nervously and continued to avoid Garak's eyes.

"I sent for you because I felt regret at all the punishment I've been putting you through. You're new here - I can't expect you to know everything about me, about Cardassians." He reached out and stroked Bashir's hand with his fingers; Bashir struggled to keep his hold on the tray. He had dropped it once already, during his first day of service, and had been beaten nearly into insensibility, then raped by the two Klingons administering the beating. Garak had simply looked on, amusement in his eyes. Bashir would not allow that to happen again. "I wanted to give you a personal welcome to my house, now that you've been welcomed by the other members of my staff."

"Please don't joke about that," Bashir was shocked to hear himself saying. In one fluid motion, Garak had risen from the couch and slapped him hard across the mouth, then sank back down and continued to watch him.

"In my household, I say and do whatever I wish. I do not take orders from slaves, particularly human slaves brought here solely to warm my bed. Do you understand?" Bashir didn't reply. Garak reached out and grasped Bashir's penis again and began to pull him closer. "I asked you - do you understand?"

"Yes, master," Bashir whispered, gritting his teeth against the pain as Garak's strong fingers dug into the tender flesh.

"Excellent." He dropped his hand. "It was very amusing, watching you squirm and struggle against my Klingon servants. You struggle so beautifully; I almost wanted to rescue you and stop the punishment, but I knew how much you required it and how submissive it would render you, which indeed it has."

Bashir saw him smiling, and he felt another burst of rage wash over him. You Cardassian bastard, he wanted to scream, you miserable, deceitful bastard - can't get your fun any other way, can you? Can't find a willing partner for your little power games, so you have to force ME to play them in my sleep, by some method I cannot begin to understand... Oh, but how impressive Garak involuntarily appeared to him then, how mesmerizing was the intensity of his gaze and how smoothly caressing was his voice... Garak was speaking to him again.

"Are you listening to me, slave? I asked you to kneel in front of me." 

Bashir struggled to obey, balancing the tray awkwardly as he sank down to the floor. "Put that on the table," Garak commanded him, as he did so. Garak then selected a peach from the tray and held it to the light, examining it. "This is exquisite, just as you are. I've gotten so used to accepting less than the best that I hardly dared hope for anything better, until you were presented to me. And now -" he held the peach to Bashir's mouth. Bashir, sensing what he was to do, bit into the fruit, the juice dribbling down his chin slightly, as Garak watched him, smiling. Then, just as he began to chew the piece he had taken, Garak roughly pulled him against him and sealed his mouth over Bashir's. His tongue forced Bashir's jaws open and scraped the inside of his mouth, finding the peach and maneuvering it back into his own mouth as Bashir struggled to keep from coughing. Garak pulled away slightly and swallowed, then pressed the peach once more against Bashir's mouth. "Another bite, my love." Bashir obediently bit into the fruit and held the morsel in his teeth, ready for Garak to claim it.

"No, you misunderstand," Garak smiled gently. "I don't want to take it from your teeth, as if I were a trained animal of some kind. I want to search for it in your beautiful sweet mouth." Bashir, mortified, slowly took the piece inside his mouth, then tried desperately not to gag as Garak's strong tongue found and claimed the fruit. He again held an unbitten section of peach against Bashir's lips. "Come now, my love - I'm not finished."

"No, please, I can't -" Bashir began to back away slightly, then remembered Garak's method of pulling him back and stopped.

"That, my sweet Julian, is where you are mistaken. You can do anything I tell you to do. If I choose to eat every one of my meals this way from now on, you will allow it. For that matter," he said sternly, "I may choose to have YOU fed this way. I'm sure Korith would gladly allow access to that soft human tongue." Bashir shuddered, knowing he was again in danger of going too far with Garak and tempting another display of the Cardassian's wrath. He crept closer to Garak once more and kissed his hand, the one holding the peach, and then took another bite of the fruit, submissively gazing into Garak's eyes as he did so. "Very good - although I hope you will soon obey me without any hesitation whatsoever." He leaned down and again explored Bashir's now willing mouth, tracing his tongue along the lips finally to wipe off the last of the juice. Bashir, who had always secretly nurtured an ardent fascination with the Cardassian's expressive and pliant mouth ever since the first conversation in the replimat, began to swoon. 

This went on for three more bites, till finally the fruit was placed on the table and Garak turned to stretch out on the couch, on his back. "Come here, Julian," he said, motioning to the foot of the couch. "Come and show me what the Klingons taught you." Bashir had been expecting this, after all, since he had first entered the room, so it wasn't extremely difficult to crouch down on his hands and knees against the cushions and then grasp Garak around the waist, pulling himself closer. It also wasn't very difficult to undo the fastening on Garak's trousers and slowly pull them open. The Cardassian organ was larger but smoother than that of the Klingons; the delicate patterns of scales and ridges were smoother, flatter than the Klingons' jagged protuberances, and infinitely more pleasurable to the human tongue. Garak had reached down and, with his hand, partially lifted his testes to allow Bashir better access; Bashir ran his tongue hesitantly over them at first, then with more confidence as he became familiar with the texture and taste, opening his mouth against them and gently biting them with his teeth. He took Garak's cock into his mouth finally and began to pull on it, as the Klingons had so enjoyed, sucking on it and licking the traces of Cardassian lubrication that kept forming there, spicy but not at all unpleasant.

The medical researcher part of his mind idly began to wonder what the lubricating fluid contained - he needed to collect a sample, but how, and from whom - Then his mind travelled back to Garak, stretched out languorously beneath him, his hand lazily stroking Bashir's hair as Bashir brought him to a slow climax. 'He must already have done this today,' Bashir thought, amazed to discover that the realization made him jealous. He redoubled his efforts and Garak shuddered underneath his mouth, partially lifting his hips off the couch as he emptied himself into Bashir with a groan.

"Very good," he said, when he was at last able to speak. Bashir continued to crouch at his feet, his forehead pressed against him. "The Klingons trained you well - as you no doubt realize, you are competing with them, and I am very pleased with your performance." 

Bashir, emboldened by Garak's current mood, hesitantly and without lifting his head murmured, "Master - may I please be permitted to ask -"

"Yes?" Garak was mildly surprised but waited patiently, one hand caressing the back of Bashir's neck.

"May I please ask why you allow the Klingons to - I mean, why can't you be the one to -"

"To train you?" Bashir nodded. "Assuming I should even acknowledge this impudent question -" Bashir's heart sped up but he kept his head lowered, "it's because you want it too much. I know you, my guileless slave. You'd come in your pants if I so much as rubbed your shoulders after one of our lunches." Bashir's eyes widened with shock at the change in perspective. "I've been able to determine that there are few races for whom you feel less attraction and more distaste than the Klingons - thus, you shall have Klingons satisfying my every whim for you, my boy, except for those times when I choose to grant you the favor of my company. But you are very fortunate today." 

He rested a moment more, then sat up and slid off the couch; Bashir remained kneeling at the foot of it. Garak commanded him to move forward, which he did, lying face down along the length of the couch, his heart pounding. He was both longing for and dreading this part, and the size and ridged ornamentation of the organ that was shortly going to impale him put him into a state of fearful anticipation. He felt cool Cardassian fingers slide his trousers down his legs, past his knees and ankles, and push his shirt up to his neck and then over his head. So. Garak wanted him completely naked under him. Bashir was aware that at any moment, other servants could enter the room and see him, and the thought caused him to redden with embarrassment. 

Seconds later, he felt Garak's heavy weight atop his back, Garak's knee forcing his legs wide apart, then his hands reaching down and grasping Bashir's knees, spreading them wider and pulling them up. It was a painful and somewhat degrading position, to be spread out in this way under the Cardassian, Garak's weight serving to press his hips even lower and flatten his legs. The position seemed to allow Garak better access to Bashir's body, however, as shortly afterward, Bashir felt Garak's cock forced into him and his hips began to rhythmically slap against him. Bashir fought to keep silent at the sudden pain, as he was still unbearably tender from the previous encounters with the Klingons. Garak kissed his shoulder affectionately and murmured into his ear. "That's it... no, don't tighten up just yet - let me all the way in... there, that's it, yes..." he drawled, sliding the cock in up to the base, his hips sealed against his captive's hips, his hands grasping Bashir's wrists and pinning them together above his head, against the pillow.

He bit the back of Bashir's neck hard, drawing blood as well a cry of pain from the human. Bashir tried desperately to block the mental image of what was opening him up and filling him; he could see in his mind's eye the other officers on the station watching him, laughing at his predicament as they told each other the self-important young Starfleet recruit was finally getting his due. He knew they regarded him with annoyance. That was one of the reasons he had worked at developing a friendship with Garak, who always treated him with respect and consideration, not contempt. Yet the Cardassian had all along been secretly planning THIS - Bashir groaned with pain and humiliation.

He felt Garak's hand slither under him and surround the tip of his penis, which was hard but not nearly as hard as Garak's own at that point. Garak evidently thought he was moaning from unfulfilled desire. Bashir tried to raise himself to avoid the hand, but of course had no room in which to do so. Garak's hold tightened and he began to slide his hand up and down, at the same pace as his own thrusts, which were becoming rougher and faster. Bashir tried not to succumb to the feel of the Cardassian flesh surrounding him, in front and in back, filling him and controlling him. He lifted his hips involuntarily, pressing against Garak, then realized what he was doing and slumped back down.

Garak's voice began to whisper in his ear, tickling him, "You're getting exactly what everyone thinks you need, human. Especially your Commander Sisko - he was desperately hoping someone would have the will to master you and tame you." Bashir trembled with shock. How had Garak learned of his secret fear, one he had only just admitted to himself? How was it possible? The new humiliation brought on by Garak's words made him pump his hips all the harder, trying to increase Garak's stimulation on his own cock even as he was being slammed against the couch by the force of the Cardassian's climax. 

"And Major Kira," Garak panted at last, "what she wouldn't give to know that you're being properly fucked by the Cardassian exile, you with your mighty Starfleet uniform and education. This is the frontier you wanted so badly, Julian- are you enjoying it?" Bashir groaned as he came violently in Garak's hand, his hips thrusting backward against him, his body shuddering. "Evidently so." Garak held on to him for a moment more, gently stroking him, as Bashir lay weak and panting under him. 

"There, there," he said soothingly, wiping a tear away from Bashir's face, "that wasn't so bad. You did quite well - you're already an excellent slave, and when I finally manage to conquer that human pride of yours, you're going to be a spectacular one." He continued to stroke Bashir's face, his other hand still loosely wrapped around the penis, when suddenly one of his Klingon servants entered the room. Bashir, panicking, tried to stand but Garak's weight and hold were unshakeable. Garak rested his chin on Bashir's back, and greeted the servant. "Ah - Korith. Good. Take our human guest and prepare him for my friends tonight. He needs a shave," he stroked Bashir's cheek with his fingers; Bashir closed his eyes, "and some decent clothing. And a nap - see that you give him time to sleep. Whether it's in your bed or his makes no difference to me, however." Korith bowed. 

Garak scrambled off of Bashir's back and then hoisted him, naked and still perspiring, to his feet. "Oh, and he needs a bath, too," Garak said, slapping him on the bottom and propelling him toward the Klingon. "See that you don't scrub him too roughly." Bashir, frozen with dread, saw Garak and Korith exchange amused glances; then he gasped as Korith picked him up like a baby and flung him over his shoulder, carrying him to the doorway. The Klingon began merrily smacking the human's backside as Bashir struggled against him, to the sound of Garak's laughter.

There was another sound as well - that of the door chime continuously ringing. Bashir awoke, panting and sweating, his heart pounding, his mind unable to identify his surroundings for a few seconds. As realization returned, he sat up and slid to the edge of the bed, resting his head on his knees. Sudden nausea overcame him and he was afraid to move a muscle lest he vomit onto the floor. The door chime continued to signal him; he finally crept toward it, his hands shaking, and addressed his visitor in a slightly quivering voice. "Yes? Who is it?"

"This is Garak! I demand to see you, Doctor Bashir!"


	4. Chapter 4

Bashir nearly collapsed onto the floor. "This is GARAK!" the voice called out again, more impatiently this time. "I must see you immediately, doctor! Immediately!" Bashir again did not answer him. The chime sounded again, and each time it did, Bashir's heart pounded a little harder and his knees became a little weaker. "Please, God, make him go away," he breathed, but Garak had begun to pound on the door with his fists; the impact seemed to echo in the silent room till Bashir was certain Garak would beat the door down. He ran to the comm unit. "Bashir to Odo," he announced, watching the door with wide fearful eyes.

"Yes? What can I do for you, doctor?"

"Odo," Bashir began, then found himself unable to speak for a moment. "Odo - Mister Garak is trying to break into my quarters."

"He's what? Do you know why?"

Bashir tried to answer but again found that no words would immediately form. "N-no," he managed at last, "I mean, he's angry about something, and - and I'm alone here, and -"

"I'll be right there," Odo said, sounding concerned but puzzled at the same time. Bashir's knees finally gave way and he sank to the floor beneath the comm unit, then rested his head against his bent legs and began to cry. Garak's pounding never ceased; Bashir finally gathered the courage to open the connection again to the corridor, but did not speak. "Let me in, doctor," Garak was shouting, "let me in and let me see this device for myself. Coward - you fucking Federation coward. I'll show you what Cardassians are like, I'll show you what we'd do to someone like you -" He stopped abruptly; Odo must have appeared.

"Mister Garak! What is this all about?"

"He's been using some sort of weapon on me, Odo, some sort of - device -"

"A device?" Odo's voice held its usual trace of challenging sarcasm.

"Yes, a kind of - of torture device. It affects the mind, and the subconscious - he's been manipulating me in some way, for two nights now -"

"Oh come now - are you sure it's not Quark's supply of kanaar that's doing the manipulating?"

"Odo," Bashir heard Garak attempt to calm himself slightly, "Odo, listen to me. For two nights, I have been having - dreams - about Doctor Bashir."

"Dreams?"

"Yes - vivid, intense dreams - I wake up almost as if I had just come out of the actual situation -"

"Garak, it's not unusual to dream about people around you. Why, I myself have had to endure several dreams about YOU during my stay here." Bashir's eyes widened - Odo sounded amused, not upset; he couldn't possibly mean the same type of dream. "Why don't you just come back to my office and tell me about these terrible dreams, and leave poor Doctor Bashir in peace."

"No, I - that won't be necessary, Odo." Bashir exhaled. The thought of Garak graphically describing his domination of Bashir to the security chief was horrendous enough; if Odo felt the dreams merited further study, however, and told Commander Sisko, or Major Kira - Bashir was beside himself with embarrassment. The voices eventually faded away down the corridor; fifteen minutes later, Odo signaled Bashir's quarters.

"Doctor, I escorted Mister Garak to the infirmary so they could give him something to help him sleep. I also warned him to stay away from your quarters from now on. The whole situation is ridiculous; I mean, really - DREAMS. I hope he didn't upset you too much."

"No, I'm fine," Bashir whispered; he didn't bother to tell him that the medication would do absolutely no good, assuming Garak was even going to use it. All his talk about "devices" and his anger about the dreams - why should he be angry when he was obviously living out his fantasies in Bashir's unwilling brain? Perhaps it was all a ruse to fool the doctor and corner him, alone, and act out the dreams on his unprotected flesh - or was it simply the case that he was finding fault with Bashir's degree of submission in them and wished to challenge him in person - Bashir shuddered and ran for the bathroom, barely able to contain his nausea. He found, afterward, that he was also barely able to contain another physical urge of a very different sort as he lay on the floor and unwillingly played the events of the dreams over in his mind... Damn.

All that day and most of the ensuing night, however, he fought sleep. He exercised, drank caffeinated beverages, played loud music, even swallowed stimulants, but he knew that eventually his body's need for sleep would overcome any attempt to outwit it. He finally, early the next morning, curled into a ball at the foot of his bed, sobbing, dizzy from exhaustion and worry. Perhaps he would finally be spared. Perhaps the dreams would stop and simple oblivion would overtake him. He twitched violently as he felt himself begin to drift into unconsciousness. 

He twitched again as he felt Garak's strong fingers close around his arm, propelling him into the brightly-lit dining room. "Here he is, my friends," Garak loudly announced, "my newest acquisition, my prettiest slave, Julian Bashir." Around the table, Sisko, Kira, Dax, and the other guests from Deep Space Nine applauded enthusiastically. 

Garak beamed happily at his guests. "Isn't he captivating?" he cooed, stroking Bashir's shoulders and then letting his hand fall to the seat of the doctor's trousers; he gave it a squeeze, causing Bashir to jump and some of the diners to laugh appreciatively. "I found him only days ago. He says he used to work as a physician on your station - is that true?"

"Yes, it is," Sisko answered, "for a short time, before he disappeared."

"I'm almost sorry to hear that. I had assumed he was lying, and had him beaten quite severely for it. Oh well - no doubt my other servants needed the practice. It appears, though, that I'll have to make it up to him." He reached around and briefly fondled Bashir's groin; Bashir danced backward and Garak slapped him hard across the rump. "Now, now, stand still and let my guests admire you." He studied Bashir for a moment. "Beautiful, isn't he?" The others nodded their agreement. "But so proud, so willful. Did you notice that too, when he was still on the station with you?"

"Oh yes," Kira exclaimed, smiling. "He was absolutely intolerable. If you hadn't found him and taken him over, Garak, I was thinking about teaching him some manners myself."

"I was too," Miles O'Brien joined in. "He needs to learn how to respect authority - I always wanted to wipe that smile off his face. Conceited little bastard."

"Do you hear that, my love?" Garak asked, turning toward Bashir, still not releasing the hold on his arm. "You seem to have rubbed your friends the wrong way - they're as happy as I am that I found you and know how to master you." Bashir lowered his eyes. He knew things were shortly going to get worse, but perhaps not much worse - he had been dressed with great attention and care, so perhaps he'd only have to serve them all dinner, or apologize to them individually, or - He froze as he felt Garak lead him to the table, his hand grasping the waistband of his trousers. "I've clothed him in beautiful garments that I thought were proper for the occasion, but - perhaps his smooth, naked body is most appropriate after all for the event I'm planning now."

He took Bashir's wrists and placed each hand firmly on the table, forcing the human to bend over slightly; then he pulled Bashir's elegant trousers down to his ankles and lifted his feet out of them. Bashir had already closed his eyes, but attempted to open them in surprise as Garak tied a napkin around them, blindfolding him. "Stand still, my beautiful pet, stand still -" he began to caress Bashir's naked backside, "and let everyone admire you... Look at this gorgeous skin." He kicked Bashir's legs apart, forcing him to lean even lower against the table. "I see that my servants have enabled us to enjoy as much of this skin as possible," he smirked, reaching around to fondle the area near Bashir's scrotum; the doctor realized with shock that the prickling he had sensed was due to the fact that his pubic hair had been completely shaved. He even dimly recalled the actual procedure, as of a memory from a nonexistent dream, one Klingon holding him down while the other one toyed with the knife, scraping dangerously against his genitals while Bashir stopped struggling and froze, petrified. He idly wondered if the area would still be bare when he awoke.

"Now," Garak announced, pushing the heavily brocaded tunic up over Bashir's neck, "it seems that I must ask all of you for your help in disciplining my unruly slave. I know you won't hesitate to assist me, and you can rest assured that he will never retaliate - I've blindfolded him so he won't even know who's striking him." Bashir leaned against the table for support - his head swam from the humiliation of being thus exposed to his mocking colleagues, and now actually to be touched and beaten by them - He began to cry softly, behind the blindfold; Garak luckily took no notice. 

Chairs scraped back against the tiled floor and footsteps approached him. "Here - use the belt. I think he likes it, so don't be afraid to smack him good and hard." Four blows rained down on him, and he fell forward; Garak pulled him back up by the shoulders and carefully spread his hands out on the table once more, whispering in his ear, "Don't move, Julian - stand perfectly still. I promise you, if you disgrace me now, I'll give you to the Klingons for a month to teach you obedience. They can only touch you now when I allow it." Bashir swallowed hard. 

Garak stroked his back almost affectionately, and the whipping resumed, with one eager participant after another. Sometimes the one administering the whipping would speak to him, obviously not caring about concealing his identity. "Stand up straight, Bashir," Sisko admonished him. "You're a big boy - you can take it." He smacked him so hard across the rump that Bashir fell forward again. "I said stand up straight - you're a Starfleet officer, you shouldn't need a Cardassian spy to teach you discipline." He then whipped Bashir's thighs and the backs of his knees, till the young man nearly collapsed again. Sisko laughed uproariously. "You'll be good and sore for weeks, I should think. You're bright red - I can't even remember your normal color." Bashir's skin burned like fire as the tears and sweat poured down his face. "Please, Garak - please, master, make them stop," he finally began to moan under his breath, hoping Garak hadn't noticed the slip.

Garak evidently chose to ignore it. "Ah, so I've succeeded in breaking you, have I?" Bashir nodded miserably. "On your knees, then." He sank to his knees, nearly hitting his head on the edge of the table. "Turn around and face me." Bashir turned with difficulty, then opened his mouth, already anticipating the Cardassian's groin thrust against him. Instead, Garak simply stroked his hair as he continued, "Are you sorry now for being so proud and haughty that I have to put my dinner guests to work, taming you?" Bashir nodded. "Are you finally learning the obedience that I've been trying so hard to teach you?" Bashir nodded again and slumped forward slightly; Garak grasped his chin roughly and pulled his face back up. "And you're willing be used for my pleasure, and mine alone, until such time as I command you to serve another with your beautiful body?"

Bashir nodded and felt Garak's hand touch his face, trailing his fingers along the wetness left by the tears. "Crying again - I must admit that I'm happy to see you cry. It means I'm successfully conquering you." He pulled Bashir's face toward him and kissed him roughly on the lips. "But I'm also compassionate - I don't wish to destroy your spirit, only teach you humility. Perhaps I can substitute pleasure for some of the pain you're experiencing." No - please, no, not here, Bashir wanted to cry out, as Garak lifted him up against his chest, hooking his hands under Bashir's armpits and hoisting him up onto the table. "Put your arms around my neck," Garak commanded him; Bashir wrapped his arms around the ridged Cardassian neck and hung on limply, his head resting against Garak's shoulder, the improvised blindfold becoming drenched with his hot tears. 

Garak grasped Bashir's knees, raising them up and pulling them to either side of his body; Bashir's thighs clasped the thick Cardassian waist and Garak pulled the ankles behind him. Bashir's cock was pressing against Garak's firm stomach, scraping against the thick fabric of his tunic. "You come against me, slave," Garak growled into his ear, "and the whipping you had tonight will seem like the gentlest caress to you." Terrified, Bashir tried to pull back, but Garak's hands moved to support his lower body and maneuver his torso into position; then he thrust into Bashir with a grunt, pulling out, and thrusting in again, the full length of his cock driving into him as the table erupted into shouts of encouragement. Bashir's head lolled backward and Garak gently lowered him to the table, while he continued to cover him with his body, standing in front of him and driving the thick cock in and out in a regular, passionate rhythm.

Bashir, still blindfolded, could not see the faces watching him, but he was acutely conscious of his own nakedness as he lay on his back on the cold marble table, his hips locked to Garak's, his body rocking in time to the Cardassian's movements. Someone reached out and tickled his side and he nearly screamed, but luckily managed to keep silent, his lips sealed. Garak, close to his own climax, leaned down over Bashir and hissed, "I want to hear you, Julian. I want to hear that beautiful voice of yours cry out in passion for me - I want all my guests to hear how much I please you." No you don't, Bashir wanted to shout, you humiliate me and mock me and strip me naked in front of the people I most want to respect me - Garak thrust into him savagely, causing Bashir to whimper with pain.

"Yes, that's it - I want them to hear you. Do you understand me, my beautiful, rebellious one? Let them hear your cries of passion. Let them hear you beg for me." He rocked his hips even harder, slamming into Bashir with each movement, nearly propelling him backward. Bashir began to moan softly under his breath, then more loudly as he sensed Garak's disapproval. His cries became shorter, louder, more incoherent except for the occasional "please," sounding to his shame like the cries of passion Garak had demanded, not the cries of pain they really were. He felt a cool hand smooth the hair back from his forehead, above the blindfold, causing him to flinch with surprise just before his own pleasure exploded, releasing a stream of hot fluid against Garak's elegant garments.


	5. Chapter 5

Bashir collapsed back onto the table, panting, every nerve in his body tingling with fear and shame. They had seen that - the entire group had heard his wordless pleas, had seem him come, naked, against Garak, and were now going to see him suffer excruciating torment because of it. It wasn't fair - more than that, it was patently unjust. What was the point of Garak's taking him in front of them all like that if Bashir wasn't, in turn, supposed to become just as aroused by him... He began to cry again, in trepidation, and nearly jumped off the table as Garak's cool hand massaged his chest. "Shh, my beloved, don't cry," Garak was murmuring to him. "I know you couldn't help it. Your desire is so strong, your willingness to submit to me... you thought that would please me." He massaged the areas around Bashir's nipples; Bashir's legs had fallen away from Garak's waist and now dangled off the edge of the table, Garak leaning down between them.

Garak's fingers squeezed and tormented, till Bashir's nipples were as firm as his organ had been; then he lowered his head and began to suck at them, gently closing his teeth around them and rubbing his tongue against them. "No, please...." Bashir moaned, "please don't do that - please let me go..." Why do I say that, he wondered - that only makes him harass me all the more. Or is that, actually, what I want? Garak stopped his attentions and clapped his hands once. Bashir heard booted footsteps enter the room. "Korith, bring me a basin of hot water, soap, and towels." Not a whip? Bashir breathed a small but hopeful sigh of relief. Garak's next words made his stomach clench. "I think my guests would enjoy seeing me bathe you. It's the least I can do for you, after your little accident against me."

So further humiliation, not pain, was to be his punishment. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes more tightly closed behind the blindfold, as he heard Korith re-enter the room and spread a towel out across the table; Bashir was then pulled back across it, and felt his arms stretched out to either side of him and his legs separated. Then eager hands grasped his wrists and held them in position - in a panic, he tried to sit up but Garak's hand on his chest pushed him firmly back down. "No, Julian, don't move. Not a muscle. Lie there and let me wash your beautiful golden skin, for the enjoyment of all your friends." Bashir heard a cloth being rung out in water, and then felt it, hot and moist and rough, stroking his stomach and progressing back up to massage the nipples in a circular motion. 

Garak continually re-immersed the cloth in the basin, keeping the water hot and Bashir's skin wet. Bashir shivered in the comparatively cooler air and felt his nipples again contract; he felt even more naked in front of Sisko and the others this way, wet and cold and humiliated, as Garak continued to wash him with slow careful strokes. He reached the area of Bashir's groin finally, having obviously saved it for last, and Bashir clenched his teeth as the hot friction worked its way up and down his penis; then Garak took the soaking wet cloth and began to massage Bashir's scrotum, saying as he did so, "You disgraced yourself in front of my guests, Julian. You leave me no choice but to clean you in front of them like the baby you are. No self control, no pride - how am I going to teach you?" 

Bashir's face burned with shame and annoyance - Garak himself had come forcefully just before that, but obviously no one here would defend him - He gasped as Garak began to apply some kind of creamy soap and lathered the genitals with it, massaging it gently all around the perineum, to the tip of the penis and back to the area that the Klingons had shaved, stinging Bashir slightly. "Hmm," Garak said thoughtfully, "you know, I rather like you completely smooth like this, in the Cardassian fashion. I'll allow Korith to continue grooming you this way." Bashir flinched, then struggled to escape Garak's persistent touch stroking and massaging him, fingers and thumb sliding through the slick lotion up and down his shaft. "No, please, " he begged, but it was of course useless; within moments, Garak had manipulated him to another climax, and he groaned and lifted his hips off the table, ejaculating into the hot washcloth Garak held against him.

"Oh, this is wonderful," Garak proclaimed disgustedly. "If I hadn't been prepared for that, poor Lieutenant Dax would have had reason to punish you herself. Julian, my undisciplined young slave, I was washing you, not trying to arouse you." Like hell you weren't, Bashir seethed - you were deliberately masturbating me so you could humiliate me even more. But, God, the sensation was absolutely extraordinary... "No wonder Korith likes bathing you so much - you're positively incorrigible." Bashir felt the hot, dripping wet cloth against his cock. "All right, let me repair the damage and then send you off to bed. I'm sure even you are finally getting worn out." 

He placed his hand against the inside of Bashir's thighs and pushed his legs even further apart, then raised the knees slightly. Bashir was weak with shame at the ignominious position into which Garak had forced him. His arms continued to be pinned down as Garak stroked and washed him; he imagined Dax, Sisko, O'Brien all watching him and discussing him - he could occasionally hear them whispering. His backside was sore from the whipping, and the friction of the abraded skin against the towel was harsh and uncomfortable. If only he could rest, could sleep, alone and untouched - he was continually being forced into the bed of Korith or the other Klingon, who fondled, slapped and abused him into mindless exhaustion. And yet - and yet - he was ALREADY sleeping - wasn't he? The situation was impossible for him to comprehend.

Garak had begun to dry him with another, softer, towel, as the hands released him and his blindfold was at last removed. He blinked against the bright light, and saw, as he had feared, all attention in the room focused on him. He tried to sit up but Garak again pressed him back down. "No, I'm not finished yet, slave. Fortunately for you, that is... I'm sure a baby like you will enjoy being soothed and babied like this." He held a container in one hand, from which he poured a small amount of sweet-scented oil into his palm and proceeded to quickly and efficiently massage Bashir's balls and penis; the touch was maddeningly gentle, and Bashir struggled to raise and grind his hips. 

Garak grasped the penis and squeezed the tip hard, so hard that Bashir cried out in pain. "I said don't move. If I ever see you trying to take pleasure from me in that way again..." He left the sentence unfinished. Bashir, stunned, lay quietly as Garak massaged his chest with the oil, then turned him over and did the same thing to his back, his bottom, and the backs of his legs. "Feel better now?" he asked, raising an eyeridge, his voice conveying genuine concern. "The soreness is going away?" Bashir, confused, nodded mutely. "All right, Korith," he said at last, "you may take this slave to my bed. Oh, and I want his arms fastened to the frame - he has to be taught that I alone control his pleasure." The Klingon moved forward eagerly, and Bashir breathed an inward sigh of relief - to GARAK'S bed, at last, no matter the other circumstances. "Oh, and see that you only touch him enough to enhance his torment, not satisfy it." Bashir groaned.

Korith hoisted him into his arms, as he had done earlier that day, this time gazing hungrily down at the naked body gleaming with oil. Bashir was pivoted around, as they neared the door, and he stared directly into the face of Commander Sisko, who smiled at him and winked. He turned his face away; the Klingon pressed it into his chest with his massive hand, which was curled behind Bashir's neck, as if he were tenderly carrying a lover to bed. Bashir shivered with dread, and felt Korith's hand on his shoulder, kneading it.

He flinched and pulled away, then became aware of someone else in the room with him, sitting next to his bed. His eyes flew open and he backed up against the headboard, shaking with fear. "ODO! What are you doing here?!" Odo, at least, had not been in the dream.

"Trying to find out why you weren't answering your signal. No one has heard from you since yesterday morning, doctor, when I came to rescue you from Garak."

"Where is he now?" he whispered.

"Sleeping, no doubt. I noticed him at Quark's very early this morning, drinking himself into a stupor. I escorted him home and haven't seen him since then, either."

"What time is it?"

"1720 hours. Doctor," Odo leaned down and examined Bashir's face closely, "your nurses told me you were ill. But I fail to see what's wrong with you, except a little redness to your face and a great deal of nervousness. Is something bothering you?"

"I - I'm unable to stop the dreams, Odo."

"The dreams?"

"Yes, every time I fall asleep - long, detailed dreams about -"

"About what?"

Bashir swallowed and fell silent. No, he wouldn't describe them to Odo; it appeared that Garak had not done so either. He couldn't bear the humiliation waking as well as sleeping. Odo, perhaps finding the situation humorous, would be sure to spread the story over the entire station by evening - he could just imagine Sisko winking at him again... "Odo, what do the people here think of me?"

"I fail to see what that has to do with your dreams." Odo had risen and was looking down at Bashir impassively. Bashir drew his knees up against his chest and pulled the blanket around himself; his pajama trousers were damp with his own fluid and he knew Odo's sharp eyes would notice that.

"Nothing, I suppose." His hands shook. "I wonder what Garak really thinks of me."

"I couldn't imagine, but he evidently DOES think of you, doctor - he was starting to tell me of these terrible dreams as well." Odo offered his Changeling imitation of a smile. "Perhaps the two of you ought to give up your lunches for a while - learn to eat alone -"

"Odo!" Bashir shouted, grasping his hand and pulling him against the bed, "Odo, you have to keep him away from me. I can't even leave my quarters knowing he's around. I can't go back to work, I can't even walk down the corridor -"

"Oh, come now, doctor." Odo pulled his hand free. "I have never seen such overreaction toward simple humanoid dreams. Garak felt the same way; I think that's why he was trying to medicate himself with Quark's alcohol. So you dream about each other - so what? Does he inflict harm on you, in these dreams? Is that why you're so afraid now?" Bashir nodded. "All right then - tell me about them. Perhaps describing them will make them seem less real." He sat back, smiling patiently.

"No - I can't. I can't. I just want you to keep him away from me."

"Doctor," Odo said, exasperated, "I can't very well restrict a man's movements just because someone else may have been DREAMING about him. I can keep him from pounding on your door, and I can suggest he avoid you for a while, but you're just going to have to learn to live with him." That was not the response Bashir had hoped to receive. He pulled his knees even more tightly against his chest and watched Odo move to the doorway. "I'll go and see Mr. Garak. I think it's time for his wake-up call too."

"Odo - Odo, please -"

"Yes?" He paused expectantly.

"You've worked with Cardassians for years - you've even known Garak for several years, correct?" Odo nodded. "Do they possess, to your knowledge, any type of - method - to control the subconscious, and implant their own thoughts into other people?"

Odo snorted in amusement and disbelief. "If they had such 'methods,' doctor, don't you think they would have used them first of all against their Bajoran population? Don't you think they would have eventually managed to wipe out all traces of resistance, using these 'methods'? Now, if you'll pardon me, I really must be going." He stopped inside the open doorway. "I will recommend to Commander Sisko that you return to duty, by the way. You're a big boy - you can take it." He was gone; Bashir pressed his face into his knees and felt his whole body shaking.

Elim Garak's whole body was shaking as well, as he slept deeply, overcome with the effects of the kanaar he had imbibed and the dream suppressors he had taken. He had gone to bed gleefully anticipating a restful night free of hallucinations, free of abuse, and free of any sign of captivatingly handsome Starfleet doctors with a predilection for humiliating Cardassians beyond the point of endurance. As his eyes drifted closed, he felt an unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant fullness in his body; his muscles clenched around it reflexively and he tried to press his hips back to enjoy more of the sensation.

He found himself lying in Bashir's bed, face down, Bashir on top of him, naked, one arm hooked around Garak's neck. "That's it - that's wonderful. You're getting better and better at this position every time, and YOU told me it was forbidden to Cardassian males!" Garak's eyes flew open. The filled sensation he was experiencing was from Bashir's shaft firmly grinding into his backside, while Garak had raised himself slightly on his knees and was attempting to push back against the human. He froze abruptly. Bashir bit into his neck and brought the other hand around to massage Garak's chest. "Come on - don't stop now - keep moving. Up and down with me, just like you were doing." Garak remained motionless.

Bashir sighed impatiently and began to grind his hips all the harder, pulling at Garak's shoulders and sucking on the neck ridges till he at last reached his own climax and emptied into the Cardassian underneath him with a groan. Then he lay for a few moments across Garak's back, idly stroking his hair and his neck. Every muscle in Garak's body wanted to throw the intruder onto the floor and kick him across the room, but he gritted his teeth and stayed motionless. The group of slaves standing around the bed would surely come to their master's assistance and make Garak's life even more miserable, if such a thing were possible, than it already was. Bashir finally roused himself and slowly slid off Garak's back, to rest beside him companionably on the bed. He draped one arm around the Cardassian's waist as Garak lay with his eyes closed, planning the best, most foolproof, method of escape.

The absurdity of the situation, though, began to worry him - how did he go about escaping a dream while in the dream? Where could he run? To someone else's dream? Still, the realism and the humiliation of the situations he was being forced to undergo made any attempt at escape preferable to the kind of life he was now leading. He pulled away suddenly from Bashir; the warm arm around his waist, which under other circumstances would be such a pleasant indulgence, had begun to annoy him beyond his capacity to endure it. 

Bashir only pulled himself closer, seemingly still resting, as Garak continued to concentrate. Perhaps his struggles so far had been the wrong tactic to use, to stop these dreams; perhaps the 'real' Bashir, wherever he was, observing and manipulating the events, liked the struggles and hoped for more of them. Perhaps a change in attitude was in order, a radical and puzzling shift in behavior. The doctor's enjoyment might thereby be diminished, and the dreams would cease. Garak fervently hoped so, anyway, because what he was about to say and do flew against every image he had ever held about himself.

"Julian - master," he murmured against Bashir's ear, "are you finished with me so soon?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Garak?" Bashir, surprised, raised himself up on one elbow to look at him.

"It's just that I was - hoping - we were going to do that more than once. I was counting on it." He swallowed. "You're such a skillful lover - easily the best one I've ever known." For what it was worth, that was certainly the truth, Garak ruefully admitted to himself. If only the circumstances were different... "You know exactly what to do to make me happy. And you still haven't made me completely - happy. Master." He traced his tongue against the soft human ear, cringing at Bashir's probable reaction; he had been relieved at first to note that the exploring hands were leaving him in unaccustomed peace.

"Is that so?" Bashir leaned in closer, smiling delightedly. "I'm pleased to hear you say that, Garak. Not that I need your approval, you understand, but I certainly can't resist a compliment. Or, I might add, a truly acquiescent slave." He reached out and began to massage the scales on Garak's upper back; Garak struggled not to flinch at the touch. "As for not fully satisfying you, slave, there is of course a reason for that, assuming you need one. Your satisfaction is going to be your reward for pleasing me now." He climbed off the bed and slipped his legs into a pair of loose trousers that a slave held obligingly up to him.

"Pleasing you... master?" I've ALREADY pleased you, you miserable bastard, Garak fumed. Or would pleasing you entail twisting your fragile human neck all the way around...

Bashir gestured toward the small group of slaves arranged about the room; Garak had been studiously avoiding their leering glances at his naked body. "I've promised them a treat, a sort of - contest. We do this kind of thing periodically, to break in the new slaves and give the rest of them something entertaining to look forward to."

"Oh?" Garak's heart, to his dismay, began to pound. New humiliations for him, naturally, with no possible chance of escape -

"We're going to have a wrestling match. You against an opponent I select. On the bed, of course - the first person to be forced off loses." Garak began to eye the slaves with new interest. Not one of them, not even the Vulcan, looked to be his equal in strength. And Bashir's perverse sense of drama might even pair him with one of the females... even better. Garak didn't relish having to use full strength against a woman, but in this situation, it seemed the only logical thing to do. "Of course, there's another, faster way to win this little contest than just staying on the bed," Bashir continued. "Be the first one to successfully mount your opponent and you will live in luxury for a week - you can eat and drink anything you wish, have any slave you wish or none at all, sleep as much as you care to -"

"All right. What's the catch?" Garak had moved to the edge of the bed and regarded Bashir warily. "Do I fight the entire group at once? Do you tie my arms behind my back?" Or, for that matter, would it be Bashir himself who would fight him? He felt a new and definite stirring of interest.

"Now, now," Bashir scolded him, "how can you accuse me of being so unfair? The conditions are exactly as I described them. I fully expect to see you victorious, Garak. The entertainment for the others comes from the match itself. Oh, and the enjoyment of punishing the loser."

"What does that mean?"

"Just don't lose, and you won't have to worry about it. Suffice it to say that my slaves are all anticipating a night of intense sexual satisfaction, and not from me. Although - I certainly plan to be involved in the punishment as much as possible." He grinned happily and stroked Garak's face. "See that you make me proud of you, Cardassian. Those muscles and that strong body are going to provide quite a show. Quite a stimulating show." His hand moved lower and began to knead Garak's shoulder; Garak pulled away in irritation. This was all too easy - surely Bashir could see that he could successfully defeat any one of the people in the room. No species present could match the Cardassians for strength, and if this imaginary creature had even half the medical knowledge of his real-life counterpart, he would certainly be aware of that.

"And who is my - opponent?" he finally gathered up the courage to ask.

"Yes, who indeed? I'm sure you realize that not one of the slaves you see before you now is really a match for you." Damn - there went that little spark of hope; it was as if Bashir had read his mind. "I had toyed with the idea of pairing you with a Bajoran; I loved the symbolism of it, no matter who the winner would turn out to be." Garak winced in annoyance. "But obviously a Bajoran wouldn't be able to provide an interesting contest against a Cardassian, as evidenced by past political history. No, I had to send off world for a suitable opponent, one who would relish not only the contest itself but the chance to defeat you personally." 

He smiled and leaned close to Garak. "You've finally begun displaying an admirable willingness to obey me. You can obey me now by showing me your greatest effort in this fight. If you win, perhaps you and I can - switch roles - for a time, Garak... wouldn't you like that?" He knelt down next to the bed and looked up into Garak's face, murmuring quietly, "Wouldn't you like the chance to be the master? To punish me for all this?" Garak felt a hardening in his groin. "Perhaps even... to sleep without dreams for a few days?"

There it was again, that tantalizing hint. Garak grasped Bashir's arm in shock. "What did you say?" But Bashir had already risen, with a mysterious smile, and was giving instructions to one of his departing slaves.

"All right," he said, turning to Garak, "back to the middle of the bed. On your hands and knees." The group of slaves began to stir with excitement; Garak felt his palms grow clammy with fear. Bashir was definitely up to something - he would never have offered himself that way to a slave, in front of the others, no matter how quietly he had spoken. Garak's stiffening, emerging penis hung uncomfortably beneath him; he tried to surreptitiously reach a hand down between his legs but Bashir slapped it away. "Do that again, slave, and I'll declare you the loser automatically." His face brightened as he looked toward the doorway; Garak was still staring disconsolately down at the bed, his mind churning. Who, holding a grudge against him, would also prove to be an equal match for him... Who would be able to provide the kind of psychological drama in this contest that would reinforce the already humiliating physical drama - oh no. Oh no, not -

"Ah - Dukat! Welcome!" Garak's head snapped up. Of course it could be no one else. "Here is the contest I promised you, and the chance to thoroughly humiliate poor Garak here. He's going to give you quite a struggle, you can be sure - I've given him several incentives that seemed to appeal to him. Take a look at his cock if you don't believe me."

Dukat's low, amused laughter filled the room; several other slaves giggled nervously. "So this was never meant to be fair," Garak almost shouted. "I refuse to perform for you in this little circus. You win." He collapsed dramatically onto his stomach; Bashir approached the bed and pulled his chin back up, his eyes blazing.

"I wanted an even contest, Garak. You and Dukat are evenly matched. What happens beyond that is completely your choice. But I promise you, you WILL fight him. If you refuse, if you show any lack of spirit, you'll not only lose this fight but I'll kill you." His expression was cold. Could he really do it, Garak wondered - could he really kill him? In a dream? Then again, everything else seemed so real, the whipping, the assaults, the other abuse - perhaps this threat, too, could be made just as real. He shuddered, and rose slowly again onto his hands and knees as Bashir backed away, still watching him with suspicion.

Dukat, already naked, climbed onto the bed and assumed the same position, facing Garak with an infuriating grin. The other slaves gathered closer, circling the bed and nearly touching it. It was obvious that they were not eager to see either Cardassian thrown onto the floor - they wanted the more carnal resolution. Bashir knelt on the bed, facing the two opponents, and pressed them backward slightly. "I want you both to wrestle, do you understand? No punching, biting or kicking. I will stop the fight at any time to punish either one of you if I think you deserve it - don't do anything to deserve it, though, or it'll weaken you in the match. I will also stop the fight if I think you need to rest." He climbed back off the bed. "All right - ready... Begin."

With a roar, Dukat launched himself at Garak, but Garak, anticipating the move, had lowered himself onto the mattress so that Dukat nearly slid over his back onto the floor. Garak laughed in triumph; several slaves booed. Dukat scrambled back onto his knees and pivoted around, but Garak was already prepared for him and grabbed him around the waist, then struggled to hoist himself onto his back. Dukat raised himself up suddenly, on his knees, catching Garak by surprise and throwing him backwards. Each move Garak tried to make was swiftly countered, nearly blinding him with rage; the sight of Bashir's eagerly smiling face made him growl with anger. He was being weakened by Dukat's attacks, but was secure in the knowledge that Dukat was equally challenged; at one point, both men collapsed side by side, panting loudly, before scrambling to their knees again. Bashir chose that moment to intervene.

"All right, enough!" He grabbed hold of Garak's shoulder, while the Vulcan slave similarly pulled Dukat away. The two Cardassians glared at each other, their chests heaving. "Time to rest. I want a real fight, not a contest to see whether Central Command or the Order collapses first." He pulled Garak off the bed and lowered him to the floor, then patted his face and shoulders with a cold, wet cloth a slave had offered him. The sudden cold stung Garak's overheated skin and infuriated him, causing him to struggle against Bashir's hands - Bashir was now trailing the dripping cloth down his chest and stomach.

"Stop! Don't touch me!" he roared; Bashir placed a hand on his arm.

"Easy, Garak. Another protest and I'll declare Dukat the winner. Just lean back and let me help you." He took hold of Garak's slick penis and slowly began to stroke it with his fingers; Garak fought to keep his hands away from the doctor's neck. At the same time, his erection was also growing and throbbing, increasing his tension and discomfort and putting him in better fighting position. Interesting, that Bashir should be assisting him in this way - perhaps he hadn't been lying after all, about the fairness of the contest. Then again, Garak had never gotten used to the doctor's annoyingly confident touch, and could not bring himself to lie completely still under it, even when forcibly pushed backward onto the floor. "Lie here and rest," Bashir admonished him. "Close your eyes." He kept one hand on Garak's chest, pressing him downward, the other on his erection. This was too, too humiliating - Garak cursed at him softly in Kardasi, under his breath, but couldn't see Bashir's reaction.

"Time's up!" Bashir cheerfully called out, a minute later, to the sound of cheering from the other slaves. He took hold of Garak's arms and hoisted him to his feet; Dukat was similarly pushed back onto the bed, and the struggle resumed. Garak couldn't help noticing that Dukat's erection, too, showed signs of having been attended to somewhat; the fight became less awkward and more vicious as both men circled each other warily, seeking an opening, occasionally clawing at sensitive neck ridges or even reaching for the groin. At one point, Dukat successfully planted a knee in Garak's crotch; Garak, fighting desperately for control against the pain, called over to Bashir but was deliberately ignored. His rage increased at the perceived unfairness of the attack, and he scrambled again onto Dukat's back and hooked an arm around his neck, using his own knee to force his captive's legs apart.

The joyous realization overtook him that victory was nearly his - Dukat was weakening, as his sudden resort to illegal tactics had proven. He was weakening. Garak felt his erection again begin to throb; he rubbed it against Dukat's tight buttocks, clenched together in an attempt to keep the intruder out. "Why don't you just give up now," he hissed into his ear. "I promise not to hurt you too much, if you do. I'll be generous with you, as always, Dukat." Dukat was too breathless even to answer. Garak grinned victoriously, and brought his knee up closer to the other man's groin, separating his legs even further.

"Stop!" Bashir suddenly called out. "Rest period!" Garak froze, horrified. Dukat, seizing the advantage, flung him off his back and scooted to the edge of the bed. The other slaves, witnessing Garak's imminent victory, had grown quiet, but now began to converse in low, agitated whispers as Bashir and the Vulcan again took hold of their charges.

"REST period!" Garak fumed, as Bashir leaned him back against the bed. "You KNEW I was winning - you promised me a fair fight. You promised me -"

"Shh, slave. No more talking. I'm still committed to a fair fight, as you will soon see." He beckoned toward the group of slaves; the two Bajorans came forward and took hold of Garak's wrists and ankles, pinning him to the ground. Garak began to thrash wildly under them. "Dukat is older than you are," Bashir continued, " and hasn't got your stamina." That declaration was not only untrue but ridiculous, and flew directly in the face of his reasons for pairing them in the first place, but Garak knew it was useless to protest. "I think we need to tire you out a little, to even up the odds." He knelt next to Garak and placed his hands on either side of the Cardassian's waist, then slowly lowered his face to Garak's groin.

"NO!" Garak screamed, thrashing against the Bajorans' hold. "You can't do this to me! Not now! Please, not now!" Bashir's lips had closed over the tip of his captive's penis, his hand around the base, his mouth pulling and sucking hard as Garak clenched his teeth and continued to beg him to stop. Bashir moved his head up and down against the already-rigid shaft until Garak's own thrusts took over and Bashir simply held his mouth over him, closing his teeth gently against the penis as it slid through his jaws. The sensation was intoxicating; Garak felt as if he were almost levitating off the ground as his tormentor crouched next to him, concentrating all stimuli in that one beautiful mouth. "Please, I beg you, no," Garak moaned, but it was too late, he came forcibly against the back of Bashir's throat and then, while still trembling with the aftereffects, was hoisted to his feet by the Bajorans and pushed back onto the bed.

Dukat was already there, braced for action, waiting for him, his own erection rock-hard, his face savage. Garak could see Bashir sitting on the ground, laughing, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Garak scooted backward away from Dukat, but his muscles wouldn't obey his brain fast enough and within seconds Dukat had grabbed him around the shoulders, then pivoted him onto his stomach.

"Do you like this, tailor?" he panted, thrusting into him and pulling Garak up onto his knees, his hips locked against him. "Thought you had me, didn't you? Thought you could actually defeat me - ME! Thought you were so much more clever than any of us mere soldiers. It's a good thing I signaled for a rest period when I did." He grunted as he rammed more forcefully into Garak, who growled and violently tried to shake him off. It was no use; he felt Dukat inside him, opening him, his heat filling him as he bit at the back of Garak's neck, moaning deep in his throat.

Garak was nearly powerless, still overcome with languor from the sexual activity and now the new humiliation. Dukat pumped his hips furiously against Garak's and then finally grew still, continuing to gently nibble the scales along the back of the neck and shoulders. The slaves cheered and clapped, as Bashir rose to his feet triumphantly and approached the bed.

"Good job," he beamed, slapping Dukat on the rump. Garak couldn't believe the audacity and waited in vain for Dukat's angry response. "You had me worried for a second." Garak closed his eyes and felt Dukat being lifted off of him. He rolled onto his side and tried to fight the tears of anger that were threatening to spill down his face; Bashir crouched down next to the bed and stroked his cheek. "I'm sorry, Garak. You had your chance."

"You son of a bitch!" Garak roared at him suddenly, pushing his hand away. "You never told me I could ask to stop the fight! You never told me -"

"Oh, didn't I? I'm sorry." Bashir's eyes had grown cold again. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I had no intention of letting you win - you were right. New slaves are never allowed to win. How else am I going to teach the others the rewards of long service? Dukat's been with me for years - he's beaten every slave you see here."

"You said you were going to give me a chance," Garak moaned, as Bashir and two assistants hoisted him to his knees. "Why did you even make me go through with that?"

"To amuse the others, and me," Bashir smiled. "You have to admit, you were quite entertaining. And the look on your face when I pulled you off Dukat -" He laughed softly. "Oh well - it wasn't a total waste of time, was it, slave? You received that satisfaction you wanted so badly, and from MY mouth, no less. I'm afraid that's an experience you'll have to remember with fondness for a good long while."

"No, please," Garak felt himself whimpering, as his arms were stretched out in front of him by two slaves and his wrists were fastened into restraints at the head of the bed. He was on his knees, naked and sweating, as Bashir again climbed onto the bed behind him, causing the mattress to squeak slightly. He reached forward and grasped Garak's forearms, then leaned backward, letting his hands trail up the arms to the shoulders. "Relax, Garak. Close your eyes and relax. You have a long evening ahead of you. When I'm finished with you, there are at least eight others here who'd like their own turn. Oh, and I'm sure Dukat will want to - re-enact his victory - a few times, too." He giggled and pressed up against Garak's back, his hands reaching around to gently toy with the nipples, pressing them between his fingers. Garak bucked against him, then began to cry out as Bashir laughed and squeezed them even harder.


	7. Chapter 7

Garak continued to scream even after he awoke, panting, covered with a film of sweat, the blankets wound around his legs, his heart pounding. "NO! NO!! Get off of me! Leave me alone - I swear to you, I'll kill you, I'll kill any one of you who touches me - I'll -" He stopped abruptly. Aside from the perspiration and the fact that he had very recently ejaculated in his sleep, he appeared unaffected. He rolled over onto his side and stared at the wall. The dream had returned after all - despite the alcohol, despite the sleep medication, despite Odo's advice to the contrary, the dream had returned. And the next time he fell asleep, he was no doubt going to be in the middle of an excruciating scenario in which he was forced to satisfy every single person Bashir could throw at him, all while living in fear of the doctor's own retaliations. 

No. He would never allow it. He was going to take decisive action at last. If that resulted in his imprisonment or even banishment from the station, so be it. The thought occurred to him, gnawing at the back of his mind, that such action would also mean he would very possibly never see the mesmerizing young doctor again, and he felt a stab of pain at the way all of this had to end, just as the friendship (or so he had believed it to be) had barely begun. But, no, he was determined. If this was the way the doctor wanted to play it... Julian Bashir would need to be made to suffer for his abusive prank, and suffer horribly. 

Julian Bashir, for his part, was already suffering horribly. He was in the infirmary, where he had finally been sent by Commander Sisko, who refused to listen to his pleas for more sick leave, or for a meeting to plead his case. "I'm in the middle of a very difficult situation, doctor, one which requires all my attention. I don't have time to listen to your dreams and hold your hand."

"But - sir -"

"You heard me. Ask your medical staff to help you, if you really can't sleep. I promise, as soon as this situation is over, I'll listen to what you have to say. Odo doesn't seem to feel you're in any danger whatsoever." Bashir again began to plead with him, but it was no use; Sisko cut the connection. 

The doctor, thus ordered back to work for a few hours that evening, found it impossible to concentrate, however; he could just as easily have stayed in his quarters, for all the use he was to his staff. He loaded a hypospray with a heavy tranquilizer, not for himself but for Garak, should the Cardassian again try to corner him alone. Then he locked himself fearfully in his office, after everyone else had left, and tried to stay awake, listening for any sound in the corridor that would tell him Garak was approaching. He inadvertently fell asleep from nervous exhaustion, his head cushioned on his arms as he leaned against his desk, mumbling incoherently. His words gradually became more distinct, as his head lolled from side to side. His arms felt weak, immobile, and his rapid breathing segued into moans of pleasure.

"Yes... yes... master..."

Garak was gently licking his stomach, lower and lower, as Bashir strained helplessly against the cuffs binding his arms. Garak's tongue eventually reached Bashir's penis and roughly scraped against it, the friction sending him into a paroxysm of desire. "Are you sorry you disappointed me, human?"

"Yes... oh yes..."

"Are you going to learn to control yourself from now on?"

"Please..."

"What does that mean, 'please'? I asked you if you were going to be able to control yourself from now on."

"Yes - master." Bashir tried desperately to thrust his hips toward Garak.

"Liar. Look at what you're doing right now - trying to push that beautifully smooth cock right into my mouth, whether I want it or not. I think you need a few more lessons in obedience."

"No - please - don't - I'm sorry - master, I'm sorry -"

"You'll be even more sorry in a moment." Garak leaned down and licked Bashir's shaft twice from base to tip, two long, slow strokes with his tongue that finished with a little flick against the head. Then he sat back and watched his captive's flushed, panting face. "Your lessons in control begin now, my love." Bashir looked up at Garak imploringly. 

"Please, master... please... just this once..." He struggled against the cuffs helplessly, again thrusting his hips upward and twisting slightly from side to side.

"I told you - no. You beg so beautifully, but unfortunately that makes me even more determined to deny you." He smiled and leaned close to Bashir's face. "You may not believe it, my love, but your master is teaching himself control as well. When I see the longing in those pretty eyes, don't you think I want nothing more than to satisfy you? Watch you come, trembling, in my hand, or taste your delicious body in my mouth?" Bashir closed his eyes and began to moan very softly; Garak's words were driving him slightly wild. 

He felt Garak smooth the hair back from his forehead. "But you and I have a lesson to learn, my love. A lesson to teach ourselves - unfortunately, your experience may prove to be somewhat less pleasant than mine." His smile widened, as he again grasped Bashir's penis firmly and began to stroke upward, then suddenly released his hold and climbed down off the bed. "Korith - come in here, please," he called out in the direction of the door; Bashir opened his eyes in fear. The Klingon entered the room and waited. "Korith, we're again going to bathe our lovely Julian, perhaps several times throughout the evening. Will you see to it?" He exchanged a meaningful glance with the Klingon, who departed; Garak once again sat down on the bed and stretched out between Bashir's separated legs. Bashir remained motionless, his face impassive but uneasiness hidden behind his hazel eyes as he watched the Cardassian.

"It won't be so very uncomfortable, my love," Garak cooed, stroking the now hairless skin around Bashir's unprotected sex; the touch made the area start to tingle and itch all over again, and Bashir began writhing in irritation. "This is simply a way to teach you that control you so desperately need. Tell me you need it." Bashir didn't speak. Garak sat up and faced him, annoyance creeping into his voice. "I said - tell me you need it."

"I - I need it."

"Master." His expression was stern.

"I need it, master."

"What do you need, Julian?"

"I need - I need -" Bashir began to perspire; Garak was trailing his fingers gently down the penis and then over the scrotum, massaging it and tickling it. "I need to learn control."

"And I shall be glad to teach you." Korith re-entered the room, a basin of water in his hands, two thick towels draped over his arms. He set his burden down on the bed and Bashir, with trepidation, heard water and bits of ice slosh against the sides of the bowl. Garak continued to finger and stroke Bashir's growing erection as Korith withdrew to stand near the door; he then brought his face close to Bashir's and started to whisper to him, "I love you, Julian. I adore you. Come for me now - come for your master, in my hands - let me feel how much you want me." 

Bashir groaned and closed his eyes, rocking his hips up and down as the water splashed next to him in the bowl and Garak continued to caress him. Just before his thrusting grew uncontrollable and he had begun to pant with exertion, he felt Garak's hand withdraw and a dripping wet, ice-cold cloth smack against his groin. His eyes flew open in shock. Garak pulled Bashir's legs further apart and, with the Klingon's help, quickly fastened them to either side of the bed. The cloth remained, enticingly plastered against Bashir's sex, outlining the hardened curves and moving up and down in time with his rapid breathing.

"What are you doing?" he gasped, flailing uselessly against the restraints.

"Please don't ask me that again, Julian," Garak answered impatiently. "You know perfectly well what I'm trying to accomplish now." Bashir began to squirm, trying to increase the friction of the cloth against his penis.

"I can't - I mean -"

"You can be silent for once, my sweet boy. I listen to your protests far more than I should, and I have a feeling those protests will be more insistent than usual tonight."

"No - please -"

"Korith, gag him." The Klingon left the room, returning moments later with a leather strap which he proceeded to fasten around Bashir's head; Bashir twisted his neck in an attempt to avoid it, but the Klingon merely pressed Bashir's forehead against the pillow with one huge hand, while the other maneuvered the roll of leather into his open mouth and then tightened the buckle behind his head. "There - much better," Garak proclaimed, standing back and admiring the result. "Your lessons in control will also include controlling your tongue. And now, my love, I think I've let you wait long enough." He lifted the cloth; Bashir felt even more exposed than usual, his genitals wet and cool, his penis still partially erect but no longer as close to orgasm.

Garak knelt down in front of him and lifted the balls with his hand, hefting them and then closing his fingers around them, rubbing them. Then he took the penis into his mouth, starting at the tip, letting his mouth descend slowly and squeezing his tongue and cheeks against the shaft. Bashir swooned at the technique as well as at the realization that the strong, powerful, intimidating Cardassian was actually serving him in this way, stimulating him and trying to increase his pleasure. 

Perhaps Garak would let him find release, just once, between the torment - Garak had begun sucking hard on the shaft; it seemed to Bashir that much of the length was enveloped in the Cardassian's mouth, and he moaned aloud with arousal. He tried to speak but the gag distorted the words beyond recognition, so he continued to moan, biting down hard on the leather in time with his thrusts. He felt Garak suddenly pull away, and with a gasp felt cool air surround him where formerly Garak's warm mouth had been tightly enclosing him. His whimpering only amused his two captors.

"Ah, this is a lesson most difficult to learn, isn't it?" Garak cupped Bashir's chin in his hand and gazed down at him affectionately. "Perhaps you begin to see a pattern to my actions, Julian. Then again, perhaps not."

He smiled again and knelt before Bashir on the bed, slowly lowering himself against him, clasping him around the neck and kissing his opened lips. Bashir nearly died with pleasure - he adored Garak's mouth and Garak's kisses, though he had experienced relatively few so far in the dreams, and none in real life. He tried to raise his head to meet him, while Garak started to grind his hips against him, partially lifting himself off of Bashir's body and rubbing his moistening erection against Bashir's own, over and over, murmuring in his ear as he did so, "Don't be frightened, Julian, my love. Don't hold back any longer - I want you now. I want to feel your warmth under me - I want us to come together, against each other. It's all right this time, Julian... it's all right..." 

Bashir moaned loudly against the gag as Garak twisted and rocked; he strained against his bonds to raise his hips and move with him, and the two men writhed together in a passionate rhythm, Korith watching eagerly from his position near the door. Bashir closed his eyes and gasped for air, his tongue struggling to push the leather gag out of his mouth; Garak grabbed him furiously around the neck and thrust his tongue into him, around the gag, seeking and then pushing against Bashir's own tongue as he too began to moan. His hands grasped Bashir's shoulders and he pulled his body closer, tight against him - at that moment, Korith savagely tore him away and instantly took the Cardassian organ into his own mouth, Garak panting and leaning against the side of the bed. Bashir continued to rock his hips upward in a futile search for more stimulation, but Korith merely slapped at him with the wet cloth, smiling broadly, as Bashir cried in frustration. Garak had slumped to the floor, his head thrown back near Bashir's hips, his eyes closed.

Bashir felt Korith lift him slightly off the mattress and spread a dry towel underneath him, and the torment continued. Garak no longer made any pretense of allowing his captive release, and Bashir in turn harbored no illusions that such release would be granted. Bound securely as he was, though, he was unable to resist his tormentor's hands, lips, and tongue repeatedly guiding him to the brink of another climax and then denying it to him. He tried to plead for mercy, but Garak and Korith only laughed again at his pathetic attempts to communicate behind the gag.

"Poor baby," Garak soothed him, "poor helpless baby." Garak, satisfied again by his Klingon servant, was in a magnanimous mood; his fingers trailed down Bashir's stomach to his tortured penis. Arousal was beginning again, as usual - Bashir was too young, too strong, too sexually attracted to his Cardassian partner to remain unmoved for long. Tears welled up in his eyes as he turned his face to the side, avoiding Garak's sympathetic smile.

"It's difficult to be treated this way, isn't it?" Bashir didn't move, but another tear slid down his cheek. "I'll take that as a yes." Garak continued to stroke him gently, as Bashir gritted his teeth and tried to hold his breath. "The general opinion, my love, seems to be that you are spoiled, self-centered, and too accustomed to getting your own way. Do you agree with that?" Bashir shook his head angrily. "Come now, we're not going to get anywhere if you refuse to recognize the problem. And believe me, my arrogant slave, a problem does exist. I'm going to describe it again, and each time I do, I want you to nod in agreement. All right?"

Bashir glared back at him defiantly. Garak smiled. "Keep in mind that your 'lessons' can continue all night, unless I feel I can see some sign of progress. When Korith and I begin to tire, I have plenty of other servants willing to take my place. Think of it, Julian," he leaned in closer, "constantly being stroked, teased, tormented, even in your sleep, never given a moment's peace -" Bashir looked suitably horrified as Garak reached out and tenderly caressed his cheek.

"That's better. Now. Are you a spoiled, willful, obstinate slave?" Bashir nodded. "Desperately in need of my patient correction; hungering for it, even?" He nodded again. "Good. Are you willing to accept whatever punishment I decide to give you from now on, without so much as a whimper from that beautiful mouth of yours?" Bashir nodded and saw Garak look over at Korith, who bowed and left the room. Garak climbed onto the bed and knelt between Bashir's legs. "And do you now accept the fact that this body belongs to me, to reward or to punish?" He took the penis into his hands; Bashir closed his eyes but managed to nod one more time as Garak ran his palms up and down the shaft.

"That's very good. I think you've made admirable progress; as your reward, you'll be pleased to know that I've decided to grant you the satisfaction I've been denying you all evening." Bashir tried to rock his hips toward Garak in gratitude; the Cardassian only smiled enigmatically. "Yes, Julian, you're correct that I'll be the one to administer your pleasure. You fought long and hard," he smirked, "but you finally seem to have learned the lessons Korith and I have labored so mightily to teach you." Please spare me the lecture, professor, Bashir groaned silently, and just take me in your mouth. NOW.

"To celebrate your, shall we say, 'graduation,' I've invited several other guests to join us."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which The Dreams are finally explained... sort of.

Bashir tensed with shame as Sisko, O'Brien and Odo entered the room and stood happily gazing down at him; he was fully erect but Garak continued, to his supreme embarrassment, to caress and fondle him into a state of painful agitation. Korith re-entered the room and strode over to the bed, unfastening the restraints binding Bashir's legs while Garak quickly released his arms. The gag was not removed, and Bashir reached up instinctively to unfasten it as Garak sank down to the floor and sat sprawled with his back to the bed, his face turned upward. What could he possibly be planning to do, Bashir wondered... 

Seconds later, Korith yanked Bashir's arms away from the gag and pulled him off the bed as well, pivoting him around and forcing him into a half-bending, half-kneeling position against the mattress, his legs spreading out to either side of Garak's body as Korith then quickly rounded the bed and pinned Bashir's arms out in front of him, pulling his chest down onto the mattress. It was a bizarre position, with his genitals dangling temptingly just above Garak's eager mouth, and Garak began to nip and lap at him, Bashir powerless to shift back or even move forward. He closed his eyes and shuddered with relief as Garak's skilled lips and tongue worked to bring him to a shattering climax, Korith's rough fingers digging into his forearms, his hot breath close to his face. His relief was short-lived, however.

Odo had moved forward and stood behind Bashir, placing his hands on Bashir's waist and sliding them up his naked skin to the armpits and then back down again to the waist, finally trailing along the sides of his hips and spreading out over his buttocks, touching them and pressing them. Bashir bucked against him but Korith simply increased the strength of his hold, pulling Bashir further onto the mattress, nearly pulling him up onto the bed. Garak enthusiastically continued his attentions to Bashir's still-responsive organ; Bashir, however, was desperately trying to crane his neck around to see Odo. His awkward position against the mattress made that difficult, now that Odo was directly behind him; he shortly afterward felt Odo's erection - he gasped in disbelief - nudging him between his legs.

He clenched his muscles, but he was bent over too far and his legs were too far apart to successfully repel the intrusion - in addition, Garak's constant, insistent nibbling and licking were claiming more and more of his attention, till he was unable to concentrate or resist. Odo drove into him, his rough voice low and mocking in Bashir's ear. "Still think Garak is the one controlling your dreams, doctor? Might it be the case, perhaps, that the rest of us love seeing you in this position, submissive, quiet? What I wouldn't give to be able to put a gag in your mouth myself once in a while." He thrust against Bashir's sore backside in a rhythmic motion, while Bashir bit down hard on the gag and tried to fathom Odo's sudden hostility toward him.

Close by them, Sisko was already stepping forward, unfastening his own trousers and calling out cheerfully, "Hurry up - I've been waiting for this. I'm going to make sure our arrogant young officer can't sit comfortably for days." Garak, his voice muffled against Bashir's groin, said, "Too late, Commander - those Klingons he adores have already beaten you to it," and the guests laughed good-naturedly, O'Brien the loudest of all. Bashir moaned and tried to squirm away from Odo, but that only brought his hips closer to Garak, who bit down hard against his groin; he screamed.

He cried out again, even as his mind registered the fact that he was now awake, at his desk in the infirmary, his body shaking, his uniform damp, his penis still partially erect. "Damn - damn - damn," he groaned, cradling his head again in his arms. He was completely alone but could still feel Odo's - rigid and painful simulation of a - penis grinding into him, while Garak's mouth inexorably carried him to another peak. He could not go on this way, he suddenly realized - every moment of his sleep seemed to have been taken over by the Cardassian, and every waking thought was filled with dread and with futile planning to avoid the next encounter.

No, the situation was intolerable. He stood up, ran his fingers through his tousled hair, and left the infirmary. His destination was Garak's room, but Garak didn't answer his repeated signals or even the repeated pounding of his fists on the door. Garak's shop was likewise dark and vacant. Bashir strode relentlessly onward, ignoring the amused and puzzled glances his unkempt appearance and frantic demeanor were attracting. Where else would Garak go - where would he hide; in what place could he safely control and manipulate Bashir's dreams, undisturbed and uninterrupted? Bashir was jogging past the replimat, on his way to the turbolift and the lower levels of the station, when a very familiar and very furious voice stopped him in his tracks.

"DOCTOR BASHIR!" Garak screamed, nearly catapulting himself over a table in his effort to reach him, "I MUST speak with you! IMMEDIATELY!" His eyes were wild with fury; Bashir, despite his own scarcely suppressed anger, felt suddenly weak with fear. This was the man who only moments ago had forced him to his bed and invited his senior officers into the room to molest him; this was the man who overpowered him, humiliated him, and left him in the care of two coarse and vulgar Klingons who continually tormented and abused him. This was the man who had a strong, deep, and unflagging interest in hurting and debasing him, to the point where his work, his life, his very thoughts were surrendered to the Cardassian for his own pleasure. This was the man who told him he adored him, as he kissed him in a way that reduced him to a puddle of mush at his feet... 

No - this had to end. Bashir stopped and faced Garak, his heart pounding, his erection continuing to grow despite his fear. "Doctor Bashir!" Garak had reached him and was standing in front of him, trembling; all eyes in the replimat and in the surrounding corridor were on the two of them as Garak began to shout, "How dare you avoid me! How dare you refuse to confront me!" His hand came up and Bashir drew back, anticipating a blow to his head, but Garak only clenched his fist and continued his tirade. "I'm going to find out what it is you're doing to me - I WILL find some way to stop you, doctor, you and all of Starfleet if I have to - I won't allow you to do this to me - I'll kill you if that's the only way to stop you -"

"GARAK!" Bashir finally interrupted, pulling him further into the corridor and away from the fascinated onlookers. "You're actually accusing ME?! If you don't like the dreams, then end them! END THEM! They're obviously centered entirely on you, your wishes, your latent desires -" Garak slapped him hard across the face, so hard that Bashir nearly fell backward. His anger overcame his pain, however, as he bravely faced the Cardassian and began again, "Listen to me. I have not been able to sleep for days without experiencing these dreams you're accusing me of causing. Yet throughout every single one of them, YOU appear to be living out your wildest fantasies." Garak was apoplectic with rage and Bashir ducked to avoid another punch. "Admit it, you loved every minute of it - you couldn't WAIT to have me there with you again." 

That was enough; it was more than enough. With a roar, Garak launched himself at Bashir and knocked him backward onto the floor; the two men slid across the carpeting and rolled together into the wall, as Odo and several members of his security staff reached the area and tried to pull the two combatants apart. Bashir, vividly remembering Odo's recent contact with him, cringed in disgust as the shapeshifter hauled him to his feet.

"Stop it, you two," Odo growled, "or I'll put you both in a holding cell where you can continue your argument in privacy!"

"No, please, Odo - please don't do that," Garak insisted. "I can't be trapped alone with him - I will not be trapped alone with that monster."

"MONSTER?" Bashir breathed, incredulous. "I'M the monster? You're the one who keeps demanding more and more from me - YOU'RE the one who keeps trying to see how many other people you can involve in it -"

"They did not come from ME, doctor - your insatiable sexual appetite was responsible for everyone of them, no doubt - that and your perverted wish to perform in front of an audience -"

Bashir, enraged, began to struggle against Odo's hold. "You performed very well yourself, Garak - my God, you never wanted it to end, did you? These wishes of yours would be almost funny if they weren't so pathetic. I refuse to play your games anymore - do you hear me? I'm sorry if your little thought-inducing device or drug or whatever the hell it is has gone out of control, but I suggest you leave me out of any future plans you have for me, or I'm going to ask Odo to keep you sedated until you can be removed from the station." 

He panted, his erection rubbing uncomfortably against his uniform trousers. He had no idea that confronting his arrogant Cardassian master on his, Bashir's, own turf could be so arousing, so stimulating. Garak's look of barely-suppressed fury was intoxicating. Bashir found he had to avert his eyes, or risk capitulating to him in some way. He could almost feel Garak's mouth against him once more while he struggled in helpless, delicious abandon, Garak's hands stroking and rousing his exhausted body, Garak's beautiful lips telling him he loved him...

"I had no choice but to 'perform,' doctor - you know that perfectly well, you goddamned Federation pig. I was giving you exactly what you insisted on every night, without rest or hope of escape. Why didn't you just ask me if you wanted a Cardassian that badly? Tell me - did you enjoy yourself? Are you enjoying yourself now?" His eyes traveled down to Bashir's groin; he could see the signs of arousal even as he himself felt his knees weaken and the lubrication begin to moisten and stimulate him. 

He had never noticed before quite how intriguing the doctor became when angry, how forceful he could be, how passionate. That shy, stammering young man in the replimat bore little resemblance to the creature before him now, struggling to free himself from Odo's grasp, his eyes blazing - how simple it was to imagine him holding a whip, ordering Garak to be spread out against the wall - Garak could just picture it; Bashir would pace impatiently back and forth, waiting for his instructions to be carried out, sometimes stroking his prisoner's back lovingly with his warm but menacing touch as Garak groaned in utter, passionate surrender...

He closed his eyes. Think, Cardassian, THINK, he urged himself - this animal threatened to KILL you. With a shout, he pulled away from the security officers and lunged toward Bashir. Bashir, for his part, recalled the humiliation of being put on display by his mocking, insensitive 'master,' then forced to perform for his guests like a whore - He bellowed in fury and pushed Garak to the ground again, swinging out at him blindly. 

Hands clawed at darkening neck ridges while knees ground painfully against increasingly sensitive and uncomfortably stiffening organs. Neither Garak, Bashir, Odo, the other security guards, nor any of the shocked diners watching from the doorway of the replimat paid any attention to the dark-haired man in the Starfleet uniform, observing the situation with bemused interest from his table in the corner.

"Typical - I try to do a favor for people, inject a little happiness and excitement into their dull humanoid lives, and this is what inevitably happens." The being known as Q sighed theatrically and took another bite of his replicated apple pie. The fight out in the corridor had turned particularly vicious; he heard someone fire a phaser at the ceiling in an attempt to restore order, but to no avail. 

And what could possibly be the problem, anyway? Q was genuinely mystified. After nearly a week of engaging in silly pranks against the commander of the station and generally becoming bored out of his omnipotent mind, he had the good fortune to discover THESE two individuals, just bursting with incredible, unfulfilled desire for each other. He tried to help them along with amusing little dreams in which they would each get to dominate willingly compliant, submissive 'fantasy' versions of the other one, quite thoroughly and realistically... It should have been such fun for them to be able to ask whatever they wanted of their dream partners and find those wishes happily granted. Why in heaven's name should that have led to the current hostility between them?

Q paused a moment in thought. It was possible, it was just barely possible, that in his preoccupation with other matters on the station he may have carelessly gotten one key element of the dreams reversed for both the human and the Cardassian - it was just BARELY possible that he may have induced each of them, instead, to subconsciously create rather formidably dominant images of the other, who would in turn overpower them... "Oh well, no matter - it's not worth worrying about now. What's done is done." Those two would simply have to work it out between themselves somehow - that kind of thing had a way of turning around eventually. For now, though, Q watched the proceedings with vague concern, looked forward to the arrival of his erstwhile partner, Vash, and raised another forkful of pie to his lips. 

 

The End


End file.
